


Setting: In A Honeymoon

by fandomfluffandfuck



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (Ava Barnes is Bucky's baby), (Steve works in one), (both of them... because they're busy adults), Adulting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, And Lots of It, Babysitting, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky is 26, Couch Cuddles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Desperation, Dry Humping, F/M, First Dates, First Meetings, Fluff, Frottage, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Grinding, Hand Feeding, Horniness, Hospitals, However Steve is looks post-serum, Kid Fic, M/M, Making Out, Meet-Cute, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Pediatrician Steve Rogers, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Top Steve Rogers, Touch-Starved, and SMUT, but that comes later, interruptions, single parent bucky barnes, steve is 29, working out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29786550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandomfluffandfuck/pseuds/fandomfluffandfuck
Summary: Steve Rogers is a pediatrician. Bucky Barnes is a single dad.A very,veryattractive single dad whose adorable nearly eleven month old is not his patient and therefore makes him fair game.Title from Fall Out Boy's song "I'm Like a Lawyer With the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off"
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Past James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character
Comments: 48
Kudos: 125





	1. Daddy's Gotta Go To Work

**Author's Note:**

> Huge, huge thanks to [Ash](https://baseballbatbucky.tumblr.com/) for yelling with me about this idea!
> 
> Some other things to think on before you read:  
> 1) I'll be adding tags as I write. However, the story is marked as "explicit" because that's where this is going to end up going ;)
> 
> 2) And I'll be sure to add any triggers that might come up outside of general single parent life, y'know? Especially when Ava's (Bucky's baby) mom gets a little bit of a background. That being said, if I don't tag something please PLEASE tell me! I don't want to offend anyone or anything like that because I know fics with kids can get kinda strange and, like, slippery sometimes. 
> 
> 3) I am not a single parent nor even a parent and to be frank, I am not really a kid person, it's just that this idea came into my mind and I couldn't stop thinking about it afterwards because Stucky does that to me, so excuse the mistakes I make with some of those things. 
> 
> 4) I am also not a pediatrician! I'm not sure how much of that will come up but, y'know, don't listen to my writing on baby health please.  
> (I am also also not a website engineer or cyber security expert which is Bucky's job, so also ignore my waffling there lol)

_ Steve _

Steve mentally groans, sitting down in the impressively uncomfortable office chair and wishing he could groan aloud too. This is not going to be the best part of his day.  He purposefully always takes the seat closest to the front so he can be allowed to not take notes over whatever they’re supposed to learn about during the meeting while still looking like he’s paying attention regardless. It’s a trick one of his fellow residents taught him last year. It thankfully works pretty much every time- even as an actual doctor, not a resident.

Silently Steve turns his head, drumming his fingers over the table, sweeping the intentionally bleak room, nodding to his coworkers that he knows. Hospitals are pretty damn big though, so it’s only a handful of people, a handful of nods. Some of them are from the ER but most from the PICU. 

Facing the table for a second Steve goes over what else he’s scheduled to do for the rest of the day beyond this; mostly rounds, talking to patients. The good things that he’s got to do, specifically- like seeing Carry. She’s a sweet,  _ sweet _ twelve year old who had a scare with cancer, or, what they thought was cancer because of the abnormal lump on her chest wall, pressing into her lungs painfully. He biopsied it a month ago after she came into the ER with her parents. It thankfully turned up as benign, just in the wrong place. She’s already gotten that  _ great _ _news_ but he’s got to check in on her so she can be discharged to recover from the surgery she needed to remove it at home. He just has to get through this meeting. 

This meeting, that… he twists to look up at the clock, still won’t start for another five minutes.  _ Ugh.  _

It turns out that the hard part about being your own doctor without having an older doctor or resident watching your every move isn’t not knowing what to do at all or how to proceed when you hit a roadblock, well, some of the time that is what’s hard about it, but… what’s really, consistently hard about finally being a doctor is the fucking meetings. 

He went through the gauntlet of med school to treat patients and be on his feet helping people all day. He did not go to sit in shitty office chairs for meetings that happen even earlier than he would normally get to work while sipping burnt coffee and pretending not to be tempted by the sugary delights that always sit in the center of the conference table. He’s supposed to be setting a good example for his patients. All of them are. So why are there  _ donuts  _ here?  _ Who brings donuts? _ They should’ve done apples or…  _ yeah,  _ apples would’ve been funny at least. 

Quiet mumbles of chatter start up as more and more people pour into the room. It’s good white noise- comfortable white noise, quiet in the hospital is eerie and usually foreshadowing for  _ something. _ They pile in, sitting in chairs or leaning against walls or just standing in small groups like high school kids. Most of them are doctors though, sparing their own residents, assistants, or nurses from the pure boredom of this morning's mandated activity. 

The few people without scrubs or lab coats or even dress shirts finish setting up. None of them are even in, like, traditional professional wear. 

Steve frowns into his coffee,  _ what did the memo say the topic was anyway? Why aren’t they professionally dressed? Is this some casual, “team bonding” thing again?  _

Barely hiding his own sigh of disappointment Steve takes a sip of his still lackluster coffee; when he knows about the meetings he doesn’t buy himself actual good coffee to save some extra cash seeing as they provide coffee for these things but every time he wonders why he does it to himself. He can put off those student loans enough for some decent coffee, right? 

“Okay,” a booming voice calls the room's attention forward, clapping at the same time they speak, there’s now a presentation occupying the projector screen at the front of the room.  _ Safeguard Security, huh. _

The older, relatively nondescript white guy continues on, introducing the other two people he’s with. Both of them are much younger. He breezes through his own name and theirs and through the company’s foundations as well as goals and day to day purpose. Safeguard Security is a website company. They build, revamp, and manage websites most of the time but occasionally take offers to lecture regular people like themselves on what they  _ “do wrong”  _ online- the line gets a couple of chuckles and inappropriate whispers revolving about some _certain_ things you can do online. He keeps droning on, unbothered but smiling a little to himself. 

Steve may or may not fall asleep with his eyes open. 

It’s not like you can blame him though! All of it sounds the same and he doesn’t know shit about computers anyway,  _ how is he supposed to pay attention? _

Steve somehow has the  _ exact opposite  _ and  _ exact same _ issue about ten minutes later when instead of the apparent co-founder or second generation founder or whoever he was stops speaking and waves a different speaker forward. 

The second speaker is  _ gorgeous.  _

_ How did I miss him? _

His eyes are big and sparkly. Unreal in their slate blue color as they catch all the artificial light in the room and make it look like perfected studio lighting, not common industrial lighting. His hair is a dazzling dark brown, long like it hasn’t seen scissors after having it modernly styled once upon a time, but not in an unkempt way. Not really. It’s just long enough for him to tuck behind his ears and to be quaffed without effort. It frames his face well. And his face-  _ oh god.  _ His face is  _ perfect.  _ He’s got pretty cheekbones, high and defined, a cut jaw, his chin dimpled sweetly. He’s clean shaven and it makes him look young and bright, impossibly doll like. 

His jaw literally loosens, falling open, when his eyes bounce from the first speaker to him. 

Suddenly he’s grateful for his bad coffee, it makes his open mouth easier to explain. He chokes a little when Mr.-I-Should-Be-A-Model-Not-A-Website-Engineer opens his pretty mouth, even his  _ voice  _ is pretty, “you’ve probably been hearing about how to be safe on the internet since you were literally in high school-”  _ holy. Shit. _

“-And it is important, however, we’re not talking about the kinds of unsafe behaviors that your teachers or parents or guardians or whomever would have been concerned about at that time. We’re talking about patient privacy and misinformation instead because I’m sure you all would rather look up something online rather than go and dust off any of your books from school-” a chorus of well deserved groans rush through the room and the breathtaking man grins back at them, pleased with himself. Steve feels his heart palpitate. 

He hears nothing of how he continues the speech. 

He spaces out instead, staring at his pretty face and trying to figure out when to nod or smile or even blink incrementally. Trying to appear like he’s listening. He’s- he’s just  _ really  _ handsome. He can’t help himself.  He already knows he is not going to be able to tell anyone a damn single thing about this presentation.  However, he does learn that his nose scrunches up a little when he smiles or laughs hard enough and that’s pretty important information if you ask him. Important like memorizing the way his cheeks flush instantly when he stutters over a word that Steve doesn’t even hear. 

He recovers quickly from his tiny misstep, “we know, as non-medical professionals, that you are looking out for patients when you look things up online. Refreshing your memories and constantly learning. It’s not about intentions unfortunately though. It’s only dangerous if-” 

A piercing baby wail interrupts his smooth, careful voice. 

Steve’s eyes tear away from the man speaking instantly, his heart rate picking up for an entirely different reason; his career choice served him well for the instinctive knee-jerk reactions he has when it comes to kids. 

He reacts so quickly, finding the source of the sound, that he doesn’t get to see how quickly the distractingly beautiful speaker also reacts to being interrupted. He’s too focused on the portable carrier basket that’s just barely off to the side of their makeshift workstation at the end of the conference room table. He hadn’t even noticed it before somehow. _And you call yourself a pediatrician-_

“My apologies,” the pretty brunette hurriedly says, c learly embarrassed as he half steps to the side. One of his hands moving to find a pacifier, digging it out of the front pocket of his bag, while the fingers of his other hand wrap around the side of the basket, starting a gentle rocking motion. Steve is close enough to the carrier, thanks to being in the front most chair, that he can see how the crying stops as soon as he offers his baby the dummy. 

They take it and quiet down, t he pacifier taking up the space of the cries. Melting them into muffled little sounds instead. A crowd of crooning and cooing follows his skillful soothing, Steve feels just the same, swooning more than a little for this stranger. Swooning even more for the very easy way he has with his baby. 

Looking about a million more percent relieved, the hot speaker who’s also evidently a _hot_ _ dad _ picks up right where he left off, going back to his job effortlessly. 

Steve tries - he really does - to listen only to get sucked right into the vortex of watching his baby instead of watching him and ends up, once more, not hearing a word. 

There’s a reason he didn’t just become a general doctor and instead went through all the trouble of becoming a pediatric doctor instead. 

Babies are, just,  _ the best. _

They’ve all got their own personalities and are so fun to watch, so fun to see them discover things for the first time, so fun to hold, so easy to read despite the fact that they can’t talk or communicate fully what they want a lot of the time. A happy baby is  _ obviously  _ a happy baby and that’s damn delightful. Delightfully refreshing. 

This baby is likely a girl- there’s a light pink headband pushing their hair back and it’s got a tiny little bow in the middle but… their hair is thick and brown and very reminiscent of a certain someone’s hair so he doesn’t know for sure. It's not like they're dressed head to toe in frilly pink fabric. Maybe he’s letting his kids hair be long too. Besides- most young parents that he sees couldn’t give a crap about the color their child's clothes are or the toys they play with. He won’t assume, but he doesn’t need to assume to recognize the adorableness of this baby in particular. 

They’ve got huge, huge brown doe eyes that blink open slowly, sleepily, only to fall back shut again. They have stubby but thick eyelashes already, lining their eyes and going right along with their head of thick brown hair and stylish hairband. They’re small but not small in the way that usually is caused by being premature. Just petite. Littler than you might expect for a child that looks to be about ten? Eleven? Maybe twelve months?

They drop the pacifier. Steve holds his breath. 

They don’t cry right away like Steve assumed they would after fussing so quickly last time. Their eyes open wide and look up at the ceiling for a moment, in shock at the wonder that is gravity, before turning and looking right back at him. Steve smiles before he can even consider the taught response that making happy faces at babies is generally a good first step to calm them down. He just does it. 

They start bawling anyway after a second or so. 

Steve flicks his eyes over to the speaker, who’s now standing, deflated and apologizing as the female representative pats his shoulder softly. He steps to the side again, offering the baby the dummy again. 

They don’t take it. 

Deciding to wail instead, making little fists and curling in on themselves. He offers it again. Again they refuse. He starts to rock the carrier, gentle and soothing- or, well, it’s  _ supposed _ to be soothing. It doesn’t settle the little one at all. 

The cries grow sharper instead. 

All of the techniques and advice he’s heard or memorized about getting a baby to stop crying circling through his head in a rhythm clear as a drum beat.  Especially the five s’s because they were just sleeping:  _ swaddle, side-stomach position, shush, swing, and suck. Swaddle, side-stomach position, shush, swing, and suck. Swaddle- _

Glancing up towards the dad Steve recognizes the familiar and very unique look of parental panic on his face, mixing with stress from literally being on the clock as he tries to calm them. After unsuccessfully offering the pacifier to them again, he scrambles to shove the pacifier back into his bag. He unzips a different pocket instead as he rocks the carrier and digs through it frantically. 

The first speaker takes his place in explaining, drawing everyone’s eyes away from the two brunettes. 

The elder brunette mutters something under his breath as the cries keep coming, louder and louder the longer their needs aren’t met. In a second he pulls a blanket, pink, small, and soft looking, out of the bag. Draping it over her tiny feet and legs and tucking it around her in a makeshift swaddle. Steve blows out a breath, hoping for his sake that that’s all they need. 

The tiny feet show right back up though. Kicking out of it, crying harder. 

Steve’s heart breaks for the handsome stranger and before he can stop or check himself he leans forward, his chair creaking minutely. Hot dad does not notice- not that he expected he would. 

_ “Hey there,” _ Steve whispers, purposefully pitching his voice higher to address the baby. They wriggle around a little, searching for the unfamiliar sound, twisting their neck to get a better view. There’s a hiccup in the crying, just a tiny moment of calm.  _ “What’s your name?” _ He asks in the same voice, giving the baby somewhere to look even as he makes eye contact with their dad instead of them now. 

Trying to come across as genuine as he can he taps the ID badge he has clipped to the breast pocket of his scrubs- he doesn’t want to seem like he’s being judge-y or creepy. Hopefully the guy gets it. 

He gets it.

_ “Ava,” _ he whispers despairingly back, really just mouthing it over Ava’s crying, panic still diluting his beauty by making Steve feel more for him than just  _ oh my god, oh my god, ohmygod you’re so attractive and you’re looking at  _ me. _ Holy shit.  _

_ “Aaaava,” _ Steve drawls, quiet but high, causing another hiccup in her crying. Her dad sighs and shakes his head in his peripheral vision. Steve is about to tell him that it’s not his fault that she’s crying and that it’s not something to be embarrassed about when he goes back to rummaging through the bag he’s brought with him. 

He pushes the carrier closer to him. Steve glances back up surprise, trying to understand if he’s really just letting him try to calm her down or- 

_ “If she doesn’t stop-” _ he offers quietly, pushing a bottle of either formula or milk towards him too. 

Steve nods, smiling and jerking his head to the side playfully, like a sort of _get back out there_ salute. He gets a much less stressed, much more earnest smile back as he turns slowly around, stepping to the side once more, clearing wanting to stay with Ava but needing to get back into the metaphorical spotlight. 

Steve brings the carrier even closer to himself, sliding the bottle forward too just in case, before carefully picking her up. 

The second his hands circle around her little back and under her bottom, supporting her and lifting her up out of where she had been laying on her back, the volume of her cries lesson, happily going along with being picked up. Apparently having wanted to be held, not swaddled. She starts sniffling instead of hyperventilating, not entirely sure if she’s done crying or not yet. 

_ “Good job,”  _ Steve tells her anyway, swiveling a little in his uncomfortable chair because he can’t exactly rock in it but it should help either way… and it does. He pulls her in closer too, settling her against his chest, figuring that warmth along with touch and swaying will do her good. With her face tucked more securely into his shoulder Steve starts rubbing tiny circles over her back. 

She goes fully quiet except for her little puffing breaths. 

Her dad pauses in his re-started speech. The hesitation is just long enough for Steve to notice as he looks over at him, shock plain as day written all over his handsome face for just a second. But he schools himself, getting his head back into the game, and it happens so fast that it feels like a private interaction. Even in the middle of a hospital wide meeting. 

Steve can’t help himself. He winks back. 

It makes him slip over the next couple of words he says, words that Steve can’t help but hear and pay his full attention towards now. Listening even though they’re computer and internet jargon central. He nearly has to slap a hand over his mouth to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of what just happened but he can’t do that with a baby in his arms though, so he bites the inside of his cheek instead. 

The presentation goes a lot faster with a baby in his arms and his attention being actually in the room. 

He even learns a couple of things like, for example, the reason that online  _ “cookies”  _ are called such a thing is because originally Web Cookies were little info packets referred to as  _ “magic cookies” _ as a rip off of fortune cookies. It’s not that whomever named them just felt the need to exploit everyone’s subconscious need for sweets and thus cookies… although- come to think of it. Maybe that’s just his subconscious weakness. A weakness for sugar, for sweet things.

It doesn’t seem like the insanely attractive father has any weaknesses beyond his adorable daughter. He works the room effortlessly as he plows through the presentation, charming and smooth. 

Said daughter snoozes through the rest of the meeting like nothing happened at all. Barely even shifting in his arms so long as he keeps swaying and rubbing her back, which, sort of makes it sound like a chore. It’s not.  It’s especially not when the meeting ends and instantly people start peeling out of the room, emptying it of most of the white noise and waking Ava. She doesn’t wail or cry or scream. She yawns and makes a sleepy little noise that makes his brain go all mushy with biological triggers for protecting young of his own species. 

Steve sets her on his knees instead of on his chest, facing her towards him and bouncing her just a little when he sees that she’s not at all sleepy anymore. Coming up onto his toes instead of keeping his feet flat on the ground and then dropping back to his heels, her eyes are wide open. Big and brown and curious. 

She shrieks with delight when he lifts her up above his head and then lowers her back down, so, obviously he’s gotta do it again. And again and-

“I feel like now that I’ve taught you about web security you at least owe me some tips,” the pretty speaker’s voice cuts through his baby’s delighted squeals and giggles. Her eyes shut tight the force of her laughter. Wiggling a little, tiny hands in the air like she's on a roller coaster. 

Steve laughs with her, helpless to her cute charm and lifting her just one more time before resting her safely on his knees so he can look at the brunette, “sorry. What am I giving you tips for?” 

“It’s it obvious?” He raises an eyebrow and nods towards them, indicating his daughter, leaning against the conference table.

“No way!” Steve hears his own switch from a regular person who’s just helping another person who’s in need to professional lecturing one of his patients' guardians and he can’t stop it, “you have her with you at work; that’s tough on everybody,  _ anybody.”  _ He pauses for emphasis, searching his face to try and get a grasp on if he’s listening and internalizing his words or not. He seems to be, so he continues, “the fact that you’ve got her here shows determination in of itself. Most parents, reasonably, get too frustrated to do that. You also must be great at soothing her normally- most jobs won’t let infants come for that very reason, they’re fussy.” His face is painted thickly with relief, he takes a breath, he’s always glad to help people and especially parents. They need it. “And it’s not like she was crying for that long anyway, she just needed help getting back to sleep. I mean, I’m surprised she was even sleeping in the first place, in such a loud, unpredictable environment-”

“She is a heavy sleeper.” 

“See!” He hears the peak in his voice, probably coming off as dorky and too enthused, “babies who aren’t having their needs met fuss until they do get their needs met. They spend more time fussing than sleeping and when they do tire themselves out enough to sleep they sleep restlessly and not for very long. Unless she’s sleeping through meal times or for more than seventeen hours a day she’s perfectly fine and you’re lucky.” 

“Oh,” his cheeks are washed with pink, head ducked a little as he reaches for the back of his neck, “no- she’s, she’s not sleeping that much.” 

“Good,” Steve lifts Ava back to rest against his chest, standing up and stepping more into the brunette’s space, supporting her with one hand under her bottom so he can stick his hand out as he introduces himself, “I’m Steve by the way, Steve Rogers.” 

They shake hands. 

“James. Well-” his,  _ James, _ cheeks go even pinker. It’s a very pretty pink, it reminds him of cotton candy and sunsets and flower petals and- heat rises to his own cheeks, he’s probably got little cartoon hearts floating around his head. He shakes himself, making sure to take his hand away from James’ and get it back to supporting Ava. 

James doesn’t notice the hearts if he does have them, he just looks over to where his coworkers are speaking to some of the actually interested doctors, chatting idly and clicking back through some of the PowerPoint slides. He seems satisfied knowing they’re not listening over his shoulder, “James is my actual name, my friends call me Bucky.” 

“Bucky,” Steve repeats, feeling the shape of his name on his tongue as his lips fight to curl around it and not into a smile. 

Bucky nods, “Bucky Barnes.” 

Steve nods too, peeling Ava off of his chest and handing her back off to Bucky, asking, “Ava Barnes?” 

Bucky smiles as he takes her, ducking to press a whisper of a kiss to her forehead and softly answering, “yeah,” love clear in his voice. 

Steve’s knees go weak. He carefully, casually, sets his hand palm down on the table top. Leaning his weight onto it, trying to appear as if he’s not melting at this gorgeous person and his baby. He deals with parents and kids all day everyday. A lot of them, the parents, happen to be attractive.  _ Why has he never reacted this way before? What’s gotten into him? _

Turning towards his probable work and combined baby bag, Bucky clears his throat, returning to his normal tone of voice as he asks, “so, how old are your kids?” trying to make conversation.

“Kids?” Steve asks dumbly. Bucky shoots him a look that pretty much screams, _ yes, you dumbass, don’t you have kids if you’re knowledgeable about them and good with them?  _ Steve’s brain catches up, gears finally turning beyond memorizing his face, “oh, uhh, no- no. I don’t have kids. I-” 

“You grow up around them then?” He holds up a stuffed elephant, one of Ava’s fists uncurls from Bucky’s shirt to reach for the plush toy, making sounds that are definitely attempted words. Not actual words though. It’s the cutest. Steve is still not immune to children even after-

_ Ah, yes. That.  _ He does need to explain himself. 

“Nah, not really, I’ve got a small family, just me and my ma-”  _ why. Why did you say that? Bucky does not need to know that.  _ “But, uhh, I work here.” He internally swears at himself, why is he this useless, “I’m a pediatrician.” 

Bucky’s face goes from soft and happy, holding Ava up and moving the little elephant in front of her so she can grab and pet it, to anxious and almost downright  _ scared.  _ Maybe even horrified. 

“No, no-” Steve tries to save his sinking ship, panicking a little himself, “I’m not gonna judge your parenting skills. I’m not, like, well… I just wouldn’t do that.” The brunette relaxes minutely, trusting him, handing Ava the toy so she can do what she pleases with it. “I work in the ER and PICU, pediatric intensive care unit, kind like NICU- the neonatal intensive care unit,” Bucky nods with a little frown. Steve hopes with everything inside him that he’s not had to go to the NICU with Ava or any other kid he may or may not have. It's traumatic for most. 

“But, uhh, the PICU is for older kids, technically any child over twenty eight days old but in our hospital it’s more for kids over three months old. So I don’t really even work with parents on how to parent better. I work with them on how to get their kid better when they’re sick or hurt.”

“Oh,” Bucky’s eyebrows come together as he looks down, straightening the carrier out and packing away the bottle he got out earlier, “that, that sounds… tough. Working with sick kids.” 

Steve’s heart thumps in his chest. Of course this guy not only has to be handsome as hell and have the sweetest baby girl but also be empathic.  _ Of course. _

The universe either hates him or loves him and Steve honestly hasn’t got a clue as to which is correct. 

He should answer- “uhh,” he scrambles for a thread of a thought, “it can be. Not all of the time though, a lot of it is… it’s- well, I was going to say that it’s fun but, yeah, that’s not always the word.” 

“Rewarding maybe?” Bucky offers shyly, adjusting Ava’s headband.

“Yeah!” He shoots back, yet again over enthused. He needs to go home and have a nap or something. He needs to, like, chill. 

Bucky busies his hands with packing away his laptop and paperwork while holding Ava, a moment of silence stretching between them. It’s not awkward. But- it should be, right? They’re strangers. Steve should- he should leave. If he doesn’t leave like he should then… he should probably ask to hold Ava while Bucky works while he’s got the chance to help him out, right? But. He also doesn’t want to baby (pun not intended) this guy. He can handle it, he can handle himself. 

“Hey-” 

Steve is rescued from his spiraling thoughts by Bucky’s timid call, “yeah?” he rasps. 

“You,” he looks up from his bag and turns fully toward him, chewing his lip a little, “would you be opposed to, to maybe giving me your number. Maybe?” Steve inhales sharply but tries desperately to control the rest of himself. He might have a heart attack. “For, like, parenting stuff. Even though you don’t, you said you don’t really do parenting stuff that much, I guess…” Bucky trails off, frowning slightly. 

Steve cannot have that. He wants-

He wants this dad, _ Bucky, _ to be happy and to have good resources  and to have his number too.

He tries to dial back his eagerness, he does not want to be  _ that guy.  _ Bucky certainly has a partner.  _ Look  _ at him. He has to have someone. Bucky statistically has a partner, single parents aren’t, like rare, just sort of uncommon. Normal but uncommon. 

“Yeah. I- yes. I don’t mind doing parenting help sort of stuff.” He flushes, thinking back to just moments ago and adding, “when it’s asked for.” 

The smile he earns from Bucky is  _ brilliant,  _ wide and dazzling and big enough to make his nose scrunch cutely and to get crow's feet to appear next to his eyes. He’s like a goddamn painting, a model, a- 

_A_ _dad, with a partner, who’s asking for you PROFESSIONAL advice,_ he reminds himself sternly as he pulls out his phone and shamefully asks, “home okay?” 

Bucky’s mouth drops open, “home- like. Your  _ home phone?”  _

“Yes?” Steve toes carefully, he doesn’t know if he’s overstepped or not. He keeps holding his phone in the empty space between them like a peace offering. 

“Steve-” Bucky protests, “I can’t. You. I- I’ll be taking up your time and, and not-” 

“I don’t want your money.” Quickly he adds, “I don’t need it,” smiling and trying to come off a little cool at least. 

_ “Oh-” _ Bucky still looks flabbergasted and confused and eager in a way that says he’s either thinking that he’s crazy or he’s the best person in the world. Steve couldn’t care which, he’s dizzy with wanting to talk to and get to see Bucky when it’s not part of his professional responsibility. Something about him is like a rope, tugging Steve forward. Finally Bucky speaks again, soft and quiet, like he’s afraid to scare him off, “that works for me. If it’s what you want.” 

“I do. Want.” Slips out of his mouth before he can reel in his emotions. 

He’s saved by the female coworker of Bucky’s chirping, “James, are you finished? Would you come here and explain firewalls to, uh, Dr… Dr. Banner,” her eyebrows raise in amusement as she looks at them even though just a second ago she looked like she was drowning, assumedly having a difficult time trying to explain whatever a firewall is to Bruce. 

He opens his phone, navigates to his contacts, and pulls his own information up. Bucky copies it down, still one handed. Bucky smiles and lifts up Ava’s little arm, making her wave goodbye to him. 

Steve laughs harder than he should and joyfully says, “have a good day. Both of you!”


	2. Daddy's Day Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky go on their first date.

_ Steve _

Steve ends up doing his rounds, including seeing Carry, but mostly just bouncing between rooms seeing patients and talking to nurses as well as other doctors for consults in between entirely uninterrupted. Walking through busy, white halls that patients often complain about, saying that it feels like an endless maze, between ducking into and out of rooms, all the while getting exactly zero buzzes from his phone. He’s not much of a texter or a socialite so it’s not really a surprise. But what is a surprise is that they don’t even get in any new patients for the PICU because they’re all taken care of in the ER! The kids that do come into the ER are for just a couple of concussions and one kid in need of staples, according to one of his nurses who usually follows him between the two wings of the hospital, nothing serious. 

So, who knows. Maybe that’s why he’s thinking about it. Because he’s not busy. 

But. The point is that he  _ is _ thinking about it. It being Bucky. He tries to not let it get to him though; trying to ignore the suddenly lacking presence of Bucky and also Ava in his life. Maybe he really hasn’t had such a slow day in too damn long and needs to have a day off, or maybe Bucky just is that magnetic, or maybe, just maybe, he’s a little lonelier than he thought. Being a doctor is a constant thing, you can’t turn people’s need for care off when you go home at night. 

Yet, nothing serious or chaotic happens during his hours and still Steve’s feet hurt by the end of the day. They’re just as overused as his reeling mind and he’s more than glad to crash into his apartment. Taking the stairs (setting a good example again), sticking his key in the deadbolt, eyes sliding shut in a Pavlovian response to the looming relaxation as he swings his door open, shutting it behind him, toeing off his shoes, and then plowing a direct path to the couch where he settles for a good hour. Checking his phone, flicking through channels, then through Netflix, and  _ finally  _ gathering the courage to rise to his feet and get to the shower by the end. 

By the time that his phone buzzes it’s seven p.m. It’s seven p.m. when Bucky reaches out and of course he reaches out right then, when he’s in the shower. 

The universe is strange. 

**_This is Bucky_ ** 👋🏻  is what the text says. 

Steve smiles, dripping water onto the bathroom floor, towel uselessly wrapped around his waist since he hadn’t stopped to dry off when his phone chirped. He had been assuming that it would be a coworker, not hoping it, but assuming. His smile grows as his mind replays the visual of the gorgeous brunette carefully picking his daughter’s arm up to make her wave goodbye this morning. 

**_Bucky!!_ ** Steve types, he re-reads it, shaking his head and backspacing- two exclamation marks is a little much… maybe just one.  **_Bucky!_ ** He briefly considers adding  _ this is Steve,  _ but he decides against it, Bucky knows that. That’s why he’s texting. Instead he types,  **_Hi, how did the rest of your day go?_ **

**_tiringly_ **

**_but good_ **

Steve barks a laugh out into his steamy bathroom, voice hitching with the heat, tapping the notification instead of continuing to make Bucky’s contact in his phone. He types the first thought that comes to his mind-  **_Sounds about right_ **

Because it does. It really does. Bucky’s response comes quickly, the three dots that indicate someone is typing on the other end appearing right after his own text goes through.  _ Good,  _ Steve thinks pleasantly,  _ at least he seems to like me.  _ He sways in place, awaiting his response.  __

**_yeah_ **

**_I have Ava & you have work _ ** **😂**

Steve files away the information that Bucky seems to enjoy using emojis and shortened language for later. So far he doesn’t seem to be extreme with it but… he shall see. Personally, he’s not a big fan of them himself, not that he has an issue with it, it’s just that there’s a little too many ways that emojis can get misunderstood for his liking and, besides, he never thinks to use them anyway. At least Bucky seems to only use clearly understandable emojis in places that make sense and abbreviations only mildly. He starts typing again-

**_Speaking of Ava, did you still want to get together to talk about parenting stuff?_ **

**_duh_ **

Bucky’s answer is immediate and plain and it makes his shoulders shake with the intensity of laughter that comes out of him. He didn’t- well, he just didn’t expect that to be the answer.

**_When could we do that?_ ** ...hopefully he doesn’t sound too eager. Or, realistically, he doesn’t sound as eager as he is despite all the reminders and red flags he’s given himself.  _ This guy isn’t interested. Even if he let you hold his baby… like he said, he’s just tired and busy.  _

**_when could you do it_ ** 🤔

**_work hrs are pretty flexible 4 me_ **

**_Work hours sure, what about Daddy hours?_ ** Steve tries to not blush at his own text. It’s not even… he’s being  _ literal,  _ taking care of a child is a thankless, full time job. He’s just… saying a word he says about a million times a day to kids, his patients. Yet with someone like Bucky  someone he actually likes it feels different. He doesn’t want it to come off the wrong way. He’s trying to be accommodating. 

**_haha_ **

Even while the first text is likely well meaning, it takes a moment for an additional text from Bucky to come through and Steve stiffens, waiting, hoping that his last text was indeed earnest and not the other man making fun of him or feeling weird about his wording. 

**_it’ll be fine_ **

**_just tell me what works 4 you & I’ll let you know if I can’t_ **

The rest of his weekly schedule runs through his mind, practically hard wired into him. Now that his Wednesday is over and through with he doesn’t have any more meetings, or any that are planned. And tomorrow is Thursday… he doesn’t have anything out of the normal planned. He’ll be in the PICU all day. Friday his afternoon will be in the ER but the morning will be for PICU and he’s supposed to do that thing for the charge nurse in the ER that he can’t place right now but… it’s  _ somewhere  _ in his phone calendar.  _ I must’ve written it down at work too…  _

He doesn’t have any shifts over this weekend though. He'll be on call like he always is unless he specifically trades hours with the other weekend and late shift pediatrician over the weekend but other than that he should be free- 

**_Is Saturday morning okay?_ **

**_perfect_ ** 😻

Steve has honestly never seen that emoji before, he chuckles dorkily at his phone screen and is still laughing when Bucky texts him again, asking,  **_do you drink coffee Steve_ ** ?

Trying not to sound accusatory Steve finds himself curiously typing,  **_Yeah, why?_ **

**_we should get coffee saturday morning_ **

**_oh_ **

**_also what time & where_ **

_ He did say that Ava is a good sleeper  _ but… just in case she’s not that great over the weekend,  **_How does 9:30 sound? There’s a coffee house near to the hospital, Brooklyn Coffee Co. if that works for you?_ **

**🤩🤩🤩**

Maybe he needs to spend some time just staring at all the emojis his phone has, half of the one’s Bucky is just casually pulling up he either has only seen once or never. 

**_I think you’re a mind reader_ **

**_9:30 sounds perfect & I think I did see that place on my way this morning_ **

Grinning like the idiot he is, Steve hums, considering asking if he’d like the address before scolding himself. He’s a grown man he doesn’t need directions to be spelled out for him, he’s obviously got a damn phone. Instead he types a simple,  **_Great!_ ** and backs up until he gets back to the half made contact profile he was making for Bucky. Trying to continue filling it out makes him realize that he actually is done because he knows nothing about this guy. 

He doesn’t have an actual picture of him, just a dazzling mental one. He has his first and last name and phone number as well as the company he works for but he doesn’t know his email or where he lives (if he even lives in New York) or if he should put him in his friends group for contacts or for work or what? And there’s also so much else. He doesn’t know his partner’s name. He knows his kids name but… he doesn’t know what she’s like, what she likes, or anything of that sort. He doesn’t know how old Bucky is. He looks young too, so he doesn’t know if he chose to have kids so young, if he just looks young, or if he’s rolling with the punches. He doesn’t know his ambitions. He doesn’t know if he even likes his job. He doesn’t know his general likes, his dislikes. 

He doesn’t know  _ anything.  _

_ Just gotta talk to him more I guess,  _ he shrugs to himself. Unwrapping his towel to dry off and eventually get dressed  _ without _ thinking more about Bucky. Definitely without thinking about him. 

**_Ava is having a good morning_ ** **😩**

The text comes before the accompanying image and yet it still captures Steve's attention, making him stare at his phone, cocking his head to the side and stopping in the middle of the hall as he tries to place why he’s chosen that emoji until he sees the phone. Then all becomes clear. 

The photo is one of Ava clearly mid giggle or shriek. 

She’s perched on Bucky’s shoulders in front of their bathroom sink, dressed in her PJs and pulling her dad’s semi-long hair with one hand. The other seems to be attempting to plug his ear or do something equally mischievous. Steve lets out his own laugh, connecting the emoji to Bucky’s current state of mind. He is a morning person by nature and necessity but he’s aware that that’s a rare thing to be and hears plenty of non morning person arguments. He can’t help but look closer at the photo - continuing forward so he’s not late to work - his phone is covering his face and clearly trying to hide that he must’ve just woken up. He’s in even more casual wear than what he wore to the presentation at the hospital, Steve swoons a little at the domestic nature of the photo that goes even further beyond Ava’s shenanigans. The white tank top he has on must be ancient, it’s practically see-through even though it’s hanging loosely off of his body, it’s fantastically showing off his gorgeous physique. As are the baggy but short gym shorts he’s wearing, exposing a good chunk of his thighs. He’s got muscle, lots of it, but his body is softened by having a baby to parent and no time to workout, real and human and still magazine ready somehow. 

Steve blinks down at his phone. He looks up. And realizing that he’s stopped in front of the elevators he reaches out and presses the down button. 

He looks back to his phone- what is he supposed to say to  _ that?  _ His heart is beat out of his chest and his knees are less structurally sound than they regularly are.  _ Is Bucky trying to be friendly? Is he just texting him because Ava is in the photo? What is he supposed to do with this information?  _

The  _ ding  _ from the elevator startles him. He gets in. 

**_Hair tugging is great to perfect motor skills and grip strength for babies you know_ **

It’s not important. True but not important. It’s the only thing he can think that’s anywhere near “doctorly” about the photo. He wants to drool over Bucky and he wants to squeal over Ava. There are no professional feelings happening. 

**_I can tell you…_ **

**_her grip is fine._ **

Steve grabs his chest as he laughs, lips pulling up into a smile while his brain files more information about Bucky away.  _ Not a morning person and perhaps even a grumpy morning person. Adorable.  _

**_Haha, good! What about your morning?_ **

**_good so long as she doesn’t rip any of my hair out_ ** 🤣

His fingers tremble and impulsively type  **_Even if she does, your hair looks great._ ** like they have a mind of their own. Thankfully he’s able to stop his traitorous fingers before they can send it and make things very awkward between them. He backspaces carefully, making sure to think about every letter as he types-

**_I don’t think she’s that strong yet_ **

He gets two words in response that solidify an additional layer of Bucky into his head. 

**_thank god_ **

Bucky is a grumpy morning person. Steve would give away too much of his bank account balance to see and hear more of it.

**_What’s for dinner for you tonight?_ **

Steve doesn’t allow his emotions to get the best of him. He hasn’t had any time to text all day but he has been thinking about it all day and if he can’t tell Bucky that then he might as well do what he wanted to do earlier and just talk to him. And, actually, on second thought-

He captures a picture of his own dinner and sends it off too to accompany his words. 

He gets a picture in return that really is worth a thousand words, just like they say. It’s of two plates side by side, one of them has an assortment of pureed foods- two of the puddles are green-ish and pretty much completely liquid and one of them is orange, it’s a bit more solid. The second plate has a microwaveable tray of what looks like alfredo pasta with what is definitely pre-prepped bagged salad that has just been dumped onto the side of the actual plate. Ah, yes, parent life. 

**_Ava also is getting formula_ ** 🙃  **_don’t worry_ **

**_it’s just already being consumed_ **

Laughing (thankfully between bites of his own dinner) Steve types out one handed-

**_Consumed? You could just say drank_ **

**_yeah_ **

**_but consumed is more fun_ **

**_Touché_ **

Just as he’s putting his phone down on his nightstand, Steve gets a text from Bucky- 

**_baby is down for the count & so am I _ **

**_goodnight Steve_ **

Amusement curls pleasantly in his gut, warm like a hug. 

**_Goodnight Bucky_ **

**_I feel like babies should have a finite amount of energy_ **

Steve spits water out, most of it all over his phone, leaning against the wall in the break room. He didn’t read his text before he took a sip from his water bottle and maybe the universe is getting him back for it. 

**_Yeah?_ **

**_What are you up to?_ **

**_I was playing chase the crawling baby_ **

**_& it was fun_ **

**_but then she also decided it was fun & has decided to get away every time I put her back down on her stomach where I can see her_ **

Steve laughs silently at his phone, unsure if other people will walk in and see him losing it over his phone or not but anticipating it to happen. 

His mind floods with images of Bucky sitting on his couch or maybe at his desk -  _ there’s another thing to ask, does he work from home or from the office?  _ \- panting even though he’s only been walking sort of quickly after a clumsy crawler with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead like a dramatic Victorian, texting him with his other hand and wondering why she’s not sleepy yet. Looking down at the play area he’s got set up for her on the floor and seeing her already gone with an only slightly frustrated breath, mostly just amused with how blankets and toys and supervision is suddenly no longer as interesting to Ava as being tailed around is. 

**_Sounds more and more like you’re raising_ ** \- Steve debates writing “one hell of an athlete”’ but ultimately he finishes his text with just  **_an athlete._ **

He’s still not quite sure where their relationship is falling. At work he would never swear, but he swears at home. Quite a lot actually. 

**_tell me about it_ **

**_except don’t_ ** **😩**

**_Don’t worry_ ** Steve fires back  **_I have to get back to work anyway_ **

**_Ttyl_ **

One thousand percent Steve does  _ not  _ have to look up what that abbreviation means, but, if he were forced to do that then it would explain as to why it takes him a minute or so to respond to him. 

**_Talk to you later Bucky_ **

Steve walks up to the door to Brooklyn Coffee Co. bright and early, for a weekend and for the time of year. It’s still pretty cold out, winter beginning to fade back into spring, and he is not a fan of the cold so he’s relieved to have arrived. Why did he decide to walk anyway? He could’ve driven. He could’ve gotten a taxi. He knows himself. He knows it’s supposed to be cold. He’s just dumb today apparently. 

Cold fingers are useless for doing any sort of fine, precise movement because they’re too busy being filled with chilly static so reaching into his pocket for his phone is less than smooth. Texting also isn’t ideal with cold fingers. 

**_Just got here!_ **

Grabbing and pulling open the door with more force than is probably strictly necessary on account of cold, clumsy fingers is excusable because it blasts him with a stream of warm, coffee perfumed air. How is he supposed to know how much force is too much and how is too little when his entire nervous system is being assaulted by butterflies? This is what he’s been looking forward to all week. 

Steve walks into the coffee house a couple of paces and then steps to the side, pocketing his phone, so he can search the area for Bucky without blocking the way in instead of just walking up to the counter as he usually would upon entering. 

The place is bustling, full of people especially with the time of day, and so no one looks up at him, no one greets him beyond the happy white noise of people. Receiving their drinks and sipping away, waking up in public, uncurling from stools, chairs, and booths and rushing out to the rest of the less intimate feeling world. All of them have places to be. Steve is supposed to be here. Here, the coffee house, is as one would imagine, full of rich colors- mostly dark but warm browns and warm navy blues and maroon reds but also creamy, light brown whites. Most of the place is wood or exposed brick. Welcoming and comforting. Rustic and modern. 

There’s a young, probably high school age of five or so people standing over by the windows, some seated at the bar there, others standing. Three of them are texting, two of them are in choking, quiet hysterics, holding onto each other and having the times of their lives. There’s a couple, older, standing at the counter in the front of the line. The woman reaches into her purse to pay as the man she’s with pulls a knee up to rest on his walker. The three patrons standing behind them are the same variation of young business-people, just out of school and trying to tackle the world. Even on a Saturday. Of the three two have Bluetooth pieces in but all three of them briefcases tucked into their palms or under their arms or across their bodies. There’s also a smattering of people sitting at the tables and booths but none of them are Bucky. 

Bucky is sitting with his back to the door. His shoulders are covered by a worn denim jacket but there’s the hood of a sweatshirt spilling over the jacket too, keeping him warmer than just the thin layer of denim would. He’s tucked into a corner booth, far away from the other people- excluding Ava of course. She’s right there with him. 

For some reason Steve finds himself surprised to see her, he’d assumed that Bucky’s partner would take her subconsciously apparently. But… it does make sense maybe. If he told them that he was going to meet with a pediatrician to talk why not force him to take the baby too, to ensure he’s telling the truth. 

_ No- that’s not it. You don’t even know this person,  _ Steve shakes his head at himself, standing in place for a little longer to clear his head of any rude assumptions. Focusing on reality instead. 

Ava’s portable carrier basket is resting on the table but she isn’t inside. The pink blanket from Wednesday along with others are crumbled inside, comfy and warm looking. Bucky has her sitting on the edge of the table, propped up against the carrier, having her face him, as he works to get her absolutely  _ tiny  _ mittens off of her hands. Steve has long since been immune to the cuteness of obscenely tiny objects meant for children but especially newborns and yet… still. There’s something charming about the tiny mittens. 

(It’s definitely the mittens…  _ not _ the fact that Bucky put them on her even though she’d be perfectly fine without them because it’s not, like, seriously cold out anymore. It’s the tininess of the mittens.) 

Steve finds himself smiling as he approaches even though he knows Bucky cannot see him- parents don’t actually have eyes in the back of their heads. No matter what their kids think. 

When he’s about ten paces away from Bucky Ava suddenly seems to find him, picking his face out in the crowd instead of looking at her dad. Steve’s slight smile blooms into a full grin, he picks up his pace a little and flutters his fingers at her in greeting without thinking about it. Today she has a blue headband that has a much larger bow than the pink one, it looks like most of the band is made out of ribbon, shiny and thick. She squeaks in delight- whatever the reason for her excitement, it’s enough to alarm Bucky. 

He turns around, curious as to what she’s spotted. 

“Steve,” he breathes, content but fairly quiet in the ever moving environment of the coffee house. He sounds less awake then he did on Wednesday but- that’s par for the course, anxiety does tend to do that to you. 

“Bucky, hey.” He pauses after saying hello, _ do they hug? Shake hands? Should he sit down? Should he go order them coffee?  _

Bucky pulls him down into a hug without getting up from the booth, solving his problem for him as he forces him to bend over into the embrace. His jacket and shirt are both softer than he would’ve assumed but he can also hear all the amused voices of his patients parents in his head, being amazed by how texture sensitive their baby or babies can be. Babies do love soft things. Steve pulls back before he can get too sucked into his body heat and soft clothes. Reminding himself of what he doesn’t know about Bucky. 

He straightens back up and makes a show of turning toward Ava, her soft brown eyes are still locked onto him, she burbles a little, mouth half open, “oh, hello, Ava,” he brushes back her pretty headband after glancing quickly at Bucky to make sure he’s still okay with him touching her, fixing it, “fancy seeing you here, m’lady.” 

The last part, the last word, is entirely for Bucky’s benefit. But if he asks he one hundred percent is going to blame it on how babies need to hear a wide variety of words and expressions to aid in learning and developing a good vocabulary. 

Bucky instantly breaks out into laughter that’s a touch too loud for their current environment and doesn’t bother to ask anything about what just came out of his mouth. In fact he ends up covering his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking as he muffles himself. Ava stares back at him, blinking and absorbing his presence, opening and shutting her mouth, babbling up at him. But Steve’s eyes gravitate back to Bucky.

He’s ashamed to say that he notices, this time, that he’s covering his mouth with his left hand. He’s not wearing a wedding ring. 

He suddenly tears his hand away from his face as soon as Steve realizes and Steve, terrified, assumes he’s been caught. He stands straight up, rocking back a little. 

He hasn’t been caught, Bucky keeps laughing, getting out, “you- you didn’t think I would b-bring  _ my child  _ with me?  _ Steve-”  _ he loses his words to more giggles.

Steve’s cheeks already hurt with the spread of his grin taking over his face, “no, I just-” he shrugs, eying Bucky and sliding into the opposite side of the booth. Ava tries to spin to keep looking, when she realizes she can’t she frowns. It’s the cutest. “I, uhh, figured she’d be with her mom or dad squared… or guardian.” Bucky flushes at the mention of  _ dad _ _ squared _ _. _ Steve’s heart goes wild. 

Bucky looks like he’s going to answer, lips falling open, and his heart tries to give him a permanent arrhythmia but before either can happen Ava babbles out, “d-” 

The brunette instantly snaps back to her, his eyes falling to her chubby face and softening like ice cream in the sun, his voice does that same thing it did on Wednesday. Evidently dipping into his personal version of a baby voice, cooing, “yeah? What’s up?” 

_ “Dadddda,” _ she whines, slurring like most infants do, but being incredibly expressive with a single word and nonsensical flail of her arms. Steve finds himself chuckling. It makes her turn her head back as far as she can as if she’s offended that he’d think of laughing at her- it doesn’t help him from stopping his laughter. 

Bucky pieces it together easily, eyes flicking between the two of them and saying, “oh, of course.” Cheekily smiling at him, Bucky adds, “why didn’t you just say so?” Ava babbles seemingly grumpily at her dad before he cradles her back so he can move the carrier away. Spinning her and raising an eyebrow, “she wants to see you apparently.” 

Steve hums, happiness filling his chest warmly and bubbling up out of his mouth as Bucky stands up, walking a step closer so he can hand her off without incident,  _ “hey-” _

“Hh-hew,” she offers, bumbling and high and slurred while he settles her legs over his bicep and gets her head into his palm, folding his arms gently around her, supporting her on her back so she can continue to see his face.

Steve hears her loud and clear, he can’t stop smiling, like- it actually feels like he’s actually giving his facial muscles a workout. _“Yeah, hello.”_ He hears Bucky slide back down into the other side of the booth with a tiny, appreciative sound, “how are you?” His tone must give away who he’s talking to because Bucky doesn’t even try to respond. 

“Ooote.” 

“Ute?” Steve huffs, amused but at a loss as far as translating goes, he doesn’t know Ava well enough to have a guess at what she means this time. He shoots a look over to Bucky, who is positively glowing with pride at her antics, slate grey eyes warm. One arm resting on the table, palm down, while the other hand is curled into a loose fist under his sharp jaw- comfortably resting. 

But he blushes all of the sudden, sitting up to mess with her carrier, setting it down on the bench of the booth next to him to avoid eye contact as he answers, “‘ute’ like cute.” 

More laughter fills his chest and the air between them, he rocks Ava more, pulling her a little closer impulsively, “feeling cute, huh?” Ava stares back at him, back to gazing and not answering. 

“Yeah,” Bucky is still quite pink, the flush of color steals his breath away and makes his smile fade in favor of his jaw dropping. He really is gorgeous. “For some reason she loves that word. I think she just uses it when she either doesn’t understand or just, I guess, just wants to use it.”

“What, cute?” 

“Yeah-” Bucky licks his lips. Steve’s pulse echoes in his ears while his eyes become glued to the movement. “I don’t know-” he pauses again, this time to bite his pretty lower lip and kill just a little more of Steve’s insides. Especially when he’s done and he looks up through his eyelashes, shyly suggesting, “maybe it’s just ‘cause I tell her she’s cute when I get her dressed every day? I don’t know… it’s- it’s like you’re supposed to complement your kids, it’s all everybody talks about. But, most infants don’t seem to have, have that obsession…” He trails off. 

Steve bites down on his tongue to successfully keep himself from asking if Bucky says the same to himself every day because he damn well should, looking the way he does. But the unseen side effect of biting on his tongue means he can’t bite his lip and so he ends up smiling even bigger than he was before. Surely looking like a huge dork. 

“That’s it isn’t it?” Bucky asks, thankfully seeming amused by his reaction. 

“Could be,” he starts joyfully, rattling through all the information he has about infants stored in his brain so he doesn’t have to think about his own, independent thoughts, “I mean, yeah, complimenting kids younger and more often has shown an average of a higher base self esteem in studies. But… maybe she just likes the way it sounds? Or she likes trying to say it? That could totally be why she’s hung up on it. Cs are pretty hard, especially when they start learning their letters rather than just saying stuff, y’know, Cs and Ss and the stupid english language.” He shrugs, rocking Ava even more now that her eyes seem to be less eager to stay wide open. Steve adds - again for Bucky’s benefit - “or maybe she does feel cute, whoever picked out her headband did a good job. I don’t think I’ve seen a more fashionable…” Steve stops. He doesn’t know how old Ava is actually, he can guess but- 

Bucky laughs breathily, “almost eleven months old but not quite. And, uhh, thanks,” he scratches the back of his neck, cheeks getting into full blown red now rather than pink. Softly he continues, “no dad squared to help me make her fashion choices,” Steve snorts, “no… she’s… it’s just me and her.”

Steve doesn’t pry but hope flutters through him shamefully.

Quickly Bucky moves on from his lack of a partner  _ (A  _ NOT _ DAD TO BE PRECISE. WHY ELSE WOULD HE ONLY MENTION THE FACT THAT HE DOESN’T HAVE A MALE PARTNER IF HE’S NOT GAY OR AT LEAST BI?) _ because to him the information isn’t new. To him the information isn’t Earth shattering. To him the information doesn’t set of sirens in his head that blare _MAYBE_ _ AVAILABLE MAYBE AVAILABLE MAYBE AVAILABLE-  _

Instead he talks, in a voice that is soaked in wonderment, about how weird it is that she reacted like that to seeing him. Both in that she recognized him after only seeing him once and in that she wanted pretty much instantly to see him closer, a.k.a. wanting to be picked up right away. 

“Like-” Bucky loses his words for a second, “she doesn’t even do that with my other friends.” 

Steve processes his words in two steps. The first is picking out the two words _“other friends”_ which implies that Bucky is already considering him a friend. Fantastic. And the second step isn’t so much actual thinking as it is spilling his very fucking stupid next thought out into the world, “children are like dogs. She smelled the other kids on me and was intrigued.” 

The brunette is not drinking anything currently, despite their location being in a coffee house, but he chokes like he is drinking something and it went down the wrong pipe. 

Explosive laughter making him grab the edge of the table with one hand and slap his other over his own mouth. Steve gets the feeling that if he was standing he would either have needed to double over or he would’ve just straight up fallen over. He doesn’t feel bad about it. In fact he just sits and grins at Bucky until he’s done falling apart. 

“I-” he loses it again, “I seriously can’t keep thinking about that or we're never gonna talk-” his voice is wobbly and unsteady, true to his words. He sounds right on the edge of laughter still. 

Steve feels responsible for it and so he says, “noted.” redirecting the flow of conversation, “do you actually want to get something to drink while we’re here?” 

Bucky nods and takes a deep breath in, blowing it out as nods again, settling himself down. But right after he stands up like he’s the one who asked the question and is now taking action as he comes to his side of the booth, softly placing his hand over his shoulder, clearly reading his confusion off of his face. He shrugs, “you’ve got the baby-” Steve’s breath gets caught in his chest. 

He has  _ the baby.  _ He, just… the way he said that makes it sound like, like, how you always hear couples with kids talk. On TV and in real life,  _ don’t worry honey, I’ll get dinner, you take the baby.  _ or  _ you’ve got the baby? yeah.  _ It makes… 

It makes him feel, for a second, like they are together like  _ that.  _ Shamefully it makes his head swim with the fantasy, nearly drowning out the rest of his words, “so I’ll order for us as long as you keep her entertained. What do you want?” 

“Uh, an- an americano?” He stutters, trying to think about not really what he wants to drink, he always gets the same thing, but about how he’s supposed to reach for his wallet with his arms full with a baby. But then he’s also thinking about how he’s supposed to go on continuing to make conversation, normal conversation, with Bucky as _ friends _ when he’s picturing being an integral part of his family. Especially when he’s thinking about grumpy morning Bucky and taking the baby before he gets up because he, in contrast, is a morning person and therefore will need to make him coffee and keep Ava quiet so she doesn’t wake up her daddy. 

“Hey, no,” Bucky pulls him from his head, “I got it.” 

Steve, again, goes with the first thing that comes to the front of his mind. Thankfully it’s a teasing sentiment on the tip of his tongue and not, like, an actual confession of his feelings, “so you’re not going to pay for parental advice when you totally could and instead you’re going to pay for my coffee?” 

“Yep.” Bucky grins at him. Turning half around and throwing back, “don’t worry, you can pay for my coffee some other time.” 

His heart soars.  _ Some other time…  _

Bucky pops the lid off of his own coffee - or, well, Steve assumes it’s coffee - to get it to cool off faster after sliding his order to his side of the table. 

“What’d you get?” He asks, getting a small thrill out of knowing that if he remembers his order there’s a chance that he could, hypothetically, surprise him with it later when he gets an inevitable text from him relating to being a very tired parent. Most of them need all the energy they can get. 

“A caramel latte,” he replies, sipping some of his drink and smiling over the rim of his cardboard cup. He sets the cup down and teases him back, “I know, I know. It’s not good for me but,” he makes a face, “lemme tell you something-” he pretends to lean forward, stage whispering like there’s anyone else to tattle on him around, “I don’t like how straight coffee tastes.” 

“No?” Steve asks, cracking up. 

“Nope. No americanos or black coffee for me.” 

Steve lifts his own, still lidded, drink to his lips with his free hand (Ava is currently fine with being held in just one of his arms, tucked into his side and facing Bucky over the lip of the table). Truthfully saying, “I’ll keep that in mind,” before taking a drink of his own coffee tasting coffee. 

They drink silently in each other's company for a couple of minutes. 

It’s apparently a long enough time for Bucky to be hit with the placebo effects of caffeine if the ways his eyes seem to glow, a little more awake and a lot more curious as he asks, “so, why pediatrics?” is any good evidence. 

He sets his cup down, transferring Ava between his arms, bouncing her a little before he settles her on his other side, “uhh, I mean. There’s a lot of reasons.” 

Bucky shrugs, eyes wider with interest, “I’ve got time. All I have to do today is take care of Ava… but, of course, you don’t have to tell me the whole thing.” 

“Nah. It’s- it’s just a long story and I’d hate to bore you,” he jokes. Bucky grins but still seems eager. So Steve dives in. 

Telling him about Project Rebirth. Starting with how when he was around thirteen, then fourteen, then fifteen, then sixteen, nearly seventeen too without having any signs of going through puberty. He was scrawny and thin and breakable (which makes Bucky laugh because apparently no one has described themselves as “breakable” to him before), basically trapped in as a child. No growth spurt aches and pains. No deepening voice. No real body hair. No mood swings. No increase in muscle mass. No “baby-fat” redistribution. No nothing… no signs of puberty at all. 

Which led his mom to taking him to the doctor as anybody would do. 

Doctors led to about a billion different blood tests and genetic tests and reflex tests and scans and things like that, things that kept him in the hospital for a good while. Those tests and scans turned up with not that he hadn’t started puberty but that his body was trying and failing to start it. It boiled down to just a mix of his hormones not being stable enough, his body not being able to sense the little amount of hormones that were there, and a whole host of other things that never really were pinned down. Not known until they were solved with an intense therapy of hormones and nutrition and steroids (and a single blood transfusion but- that’s not super important) that had him going through puberty. A puberty that seemed to be super accelerated and strong based on where he started, however, if you look at his dad then it’s normal seeming. 

But, yes, looking at him before and after with no context is a great example of puberty hitting somebody like a truck. 

Steve mentions how he put on ten inches and nearly one hundred and fifty pounds of mass in bone and muscle weight, not body fat, in about three years because of the program and he has never seen someone so clearly embody the emotion that is flabbergasted. Bucky’s mouth actually is hanging open. It’s pretty cute. 

Finishing up his entire, like, backstory Steve finishes with how because of Project Rebirth he got interested in medical science- and who _ wouldn’t _ after that fantastic example of it that he got to watch right in front of him? Taking place in his own body. Plus, there was the part of him that knew just how grateful his mom was for all those doctors for being able to help him. As well as knowing how much relief it gave her to no longer have a sick child. Pretty quickly he realized he wanted to be able to pass that onto other people in the same way that he also wanted to be able to change people’s lives so significantly for the better. 

“And I thought… just  _ people, _ I just wanted to help people at first but then. Then I figured out that it was specifically parents and kids that I really wanted to help as I went through general medical school. And  _ bam-”  _ Ava makes her own attempt at  _ bam.  _ It comes out more like  _ bah. _ Steve smiles through the last of his sentence “-before I knew it, I was in pediatrics.” 

“So…” Steve nods, hearing Bucky’s interjection and welcoming any questions he might have, “you were a guinea pig for a science project? And you enjoyed the results? So you became a doctor?” He’s clearly trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness. Steve can relate to that. Life is fucking strange. 

“Yeah.” He nods, “oh, and you totally can laugh, but you’ve gotta save some of it for later, okay?” 

“Okay?” He tilts his head to the side, like a puppy, looking up from Ava (who had been handed back about mid-conversation when she started to squirm and babble about her daddy), “why later?” 

“‘Cause you haven’t seen pictures of me back then yet.” Bucky’s eyes light with interest and mischief. It causes more laughter than his shortened explanation did. Ava squeaks in response, catching some of his contagious giggles. 

“What about-” Bucky starts after a second of silence.

“Huh?” Steve pulls his eyes up from Ava to Bucky, “what about what?”

“You… you look really young.” Steve resists drawling  _ do I?  _ and then giggling like a school girl in response, but barely. “Doesn’t medical school take a really long time?” 

Steve hears the unasked question. He answers it first, “I’m twenty nine.” Bucky’s face lets onto the fact that he really did think he was a lot younger, his features meld into a look of mild shock.  _ Hopefully that’s not a deal breaker,  _ his thoughts whisper but he pushes them away and keeps explaining instead, “this year is my first year of being an actual, independent doctor without anyone looking over my shoulder- except the dean of medicine and a couple of other bosses in the hospital, of course.”

“Course.” 

“Yeah- for me it took eleven years,” Bucky’s eyes widen, obviously not a fan of thinking about being in school for that long, “eight just for getting my degree split between four for a bachelors and four for actual medical school. And then three years of residency. But it also can take a lot longer than that, I got lucky.” 

“Ew. I-” Bucky shakes his head, bouncing Ava some more, “I do not think I could survive that… oh!” His face lights up, he stops moving Ava on his knees, much to her complaint of grumpy sounding gurgles, “I’m twenty six.” He flushes prettily, “you, you said your age and I-” he trails off. 

Steve laughs, “no, yeah. I-” he too pauses. “You look younger than that though too.” 

“Do I?” He nods, Bucky chews his lower lip, thinking, “huh. Most people think I’m older because of Ava.” 

“Well, thinking and looking are different things.” 

“I guess that’s true.” 

Perhaps a little too eagerly Steve flips the conversation around toward Bucky, “I just talked for like an hour, tell me about you? How’d you get into web security and…” he thinks about asking about Ava but he doesn’t really know where to go with that line of thought, so he finishes by saying, “lecturing people on it?” 

He knows that there’s no additional dad or mom or parental figure for Ava,  _ “it’s just me and her,”  _ but he doesn’t know if there was and then they fell out of love or even if they were in love. He also doesn’t know if Bucky is even single. A lot of single parents wait until a couple dates in to mention kids just because it drives a lot of people away. He… he can’t be sure of anything really. He can’t even be sure if it’s okay for him to ask. 

Bucky is young enough, twenty six, that Steve can’t safely assume that she was planned, she could have been, but maybe not. Either way obviously Bucky loves his daughter but… 

He just doesn’t know where to start with those questions. 

“Uhh, yeah, I mean-” Bucky shifts Ava on his legs, they’ve been here long enough that she seems to be getting tired but it’s also interesting enough to her little brain that she is clearly trying to keep watching what’s happening around her, “I don’t have a super interesting story.” 

“So?” He still wants to hear it. 

“I just took a digital arts class in middle school and I thought,” his lips ghost up into a wistful smile, “I thought I wanted to be a graphic designer but then I realized that-” he bites his lip, looks down, and covers Ava’s ears with his hands as he leans forward, whispering, “I’m  _ shit _ at art.”

Steve bursts out in his own giggles, half choking on them as amusement and affection curl into him, wrapping him up like ivy around a tree but comforting, not constricting. Ava has put her own hands over Bucky’s, imitating him and looking purely joyful at it. It makes Steve laugh harder, knocking something loose in his chest. 

He continues when he’s done, “like I cannot draw to save my life, sure, I can code and look at colors and fonts and sort of make them look okay together. But it’s the sort of “okay” that just doesn’t look like not like a three year old did it,” he looks down at Ava apologetically. Steve huffs a laugh out. “And it’s not like I do much designing of aesthetics for the websites that I work with clients on, that’s ultimately their call, I just make sure that people will be able to navigate the website easily and without worry about leaking their email, credit card number, or other sensitive information like that.” 

“Kind of like the practical side of architecture?” Bucky looks confused by his comparison, “like the architect has to make the building look good, yes, but it’s really the clients that are choosing the look, the architect has to plan and think of materials and numbers and environmental stuff.” 

His lips tick up into a smirk, “I guess, yeah. I didn’t- I, I hadn’t thought about it like that. But, yeah. Yeah. Uhh, I took those more artsy coding and creative computer operating in middle school but in high school they didn’t have any,” Steve frowns, “yeah, I know. They just had web design which is more or less a version of what I do now. I mean it taught me basic coding and basic color theory plus like color association and those sorts of things.” 

Steve nods, feeling the words wash over him in the same way he knows a lot of people feel when he starts telling them actual details about medical stuff. It’s a lot of jargon, “yeah. Yeah- I just. I know nothing about computers but that sounds… it sounds interesting.” 

“Really?” Bucky asks, disbelieving.

“Really! But I also think that medical stuff is interesting so I’m not sure how much of my opinion you can trust.” 

“Ha!” Bucky says, but he looks pleased with his interest. 

So pleased in fact that Steve has to ask him to continue. He does. 

He explains more stuff about the ins and outs of safe web design versus regular web design. He tells Steve that there’s just something about coding that’s actually fun to him, sort of meditative and easy for him to do. Something about the way that you can put in a bunch of work into a program and then save and reopen it and instantly see what you did correctly and how much work you’ve done that he likes. There’s not so much good about talking to people about it but it’s part of his job, sort of in the same way that Steve did not become a doctor to go to meetings. Part of his job, like the big convention he has to go to the week after next. 

“It’s not even one of the cool conventions, Steve!” He complains while settling Ava back into her carrier so she can have her first nap of the day now that it’s nearly eleven a.m. 

“What are the cool ones?” 

“The cool conventions-” Bucky pauses, focusing on swaddling Ava. Then continuing, “those ones are way longer than this one will be and they’re usually sponsored by Google or Yahoo or Amazon or something. Their purpose is basically to show off all the new online technologies, upcoming and currently available ones. Like a couple of years ago when SnapChat was getting really big for the first time and their filters were getting, like, actually good. Part of the convention was just their booths, explaining how they managed to create their app, their filters, and things like that. Or Google Lens, y’know?” 

Steve nods, trying to let his infatuation with Bucky’s shimmering infatuation show. Apparently the more excited Bucky gets about talking about something the faster he talks and the higher he talks. The additional passion also brings out more hand gestures and bigger emotions crossing his face. His pretty eyes keep widening and his lips have stayed quirked up into a little smirk on one side the whole while. It’s a magnificent look on him- passion that is. 

“How long is this convention?” He asks, genuinely curious. 

“This one is only three days,” the brunette answers easily, “some of the bigger ones go for weeks, not days.” 

“Oh, wow,” he says, meaning it entirely, “did you need someone to babysit for the length of the convention? It sounds like you’ll be really busy and-” 

_ Oops. Shit.  _

The words come out of his mouth so fucking easily that he doesn’t realize what he’s said, what he’s implied, until they’re out there in the open. Hanging between them and weighing the atmosphere down. 

Steve winces and swallows, rambling on before he can get his mouth back under control, “I mean- I didn’t mean to, to ask. Well. I did. I just-” he sucks in a sip of air, “I didn’t mean to ask and imply myself, you can’t be comfortable with that. I just- I’m sure you’ve got someone else already planned to babysit that’s not, uhh, me. I mean-” he shakes his reeling head and tries to calm himself, “I am basically still a stranger to you and if not your partner you probably have a friend who can do the job. I didn’t mean to overstep by asking.” 

“What?” Bucky fumbles, looking back at him, lips slightly parted, eyebrows drawn together, “I- no. No, she, I- uhh,” he lifts his hand to his mouth, rubbing his curled fingers over his lower lip, trying to process something, “I don’t, don’t have anyone who was going to watch her. I was… I was pretty vague before. Her mom isn’t around.” 

Bucky stares down at the table. Steve wants to punch himself in the face. 

Shyly he looks back up though- Steve practically hears an angel’s chorus. “There’s no dad squared around either… I,” he blushes significantly deeper than he has ever seen him before, “I’m single right now. But, like, really?” His voice pitches up, “you’d babysit.  _ For me?”  _

His face is so relieved it’s almost comical, Steve imagines that his own face  _ is _ comical. His chest and mind are alive with a storm of emotion. 

The only thing he can manage is, “yeah,”  _ of course.  _

Bucky laughs, cracking up in that he literally sounds like he might be cracking apart with relief, “oh my god. I could kiss you.” 

_ Please,  _ is the only thing that Steve thinks and he’s  completely half afraid that he’ll accidentally say that out loud. 

So, to prevent that from happening he fumbles over more words. 

Vomiting words out that undoubtedly don’t make any sense at all. Going from apologizing again to tumbling into a confession of how he assumed that Bucky had somebody, man or woman or otherwise, helping him parent Ava because he’s actually really fucking attractive so he assumed that if he wasn’t with Ava’s mom them he must’ve been with somebody. 

Again. He doesn’t realize what he’s said until it’s out of his mouth and been vocalized into the real world. And when he does realize what he’s said he almost chokes on his tongue because he, Steve Rogers, is a fucking mess of a man. 

Bucky is gaping at him. His cheeks are bright red. 

Bucky swallows and opens his mouth, then he shuts his mouth, then he opens it again. And then he just says, “I- I could say the same thing about you. I thought- you’re single?” 

“Very single,” Steve chokes out. 

“Well, fuck,” Bucky doesn’t have the forethought to cover Ava’s ears, Steve cannot tear his gaze from Bucky’s to check if she’s still asleep or not, “I kept telling myself that you had to be married with kids or something.” 

It’s Steve’s turn to flush with embarrassment then. He shakes his head. “D-does that offer for a kiss still stand?” 

Bucky leans forward in the same second that Steve feels himself do the same, as if there’s a magnet pulling them together- pulsing between them like their apparent mutual attraction. 

Their lips meet over the booth’s table. 

The edge of it digs into his stomach uncomfortably but barely noticeable, Steve is too wrapped up in the press of Bucky’s plush, warm lips pressed to his. Static crackles like magic over his skin as their mouths meet. Bucky feels it too if the little gasp that falls from between his lips is anything to go by. The bustle of people around them fades away to nothing more than a faint ringing, like the kind that can be heard the morning after a surreal night out, a little keepsake to let you know that it was real in the first place. 

Steve knocks over his empty coffee cup as he reaches up to hold Bucky’s cheek, they both lean closer, lips awakening from the initial shock. They both subconsciously obey the energy between them and open their mouths, the kiss turning more intimate. Perhaps too intimate.

A familiar pitch cuts through the atmosphere of their newly created private world anyway. 

Ava has started to cry in her carrier, apparently having woken back up already and upset with that fact. 

Bucky moves half of a second faster with pulling back but he’s not faster with opening his eyes because Steve gets there first and he watches as his eyes flick open, peaceful, looking as if he’s just woken up from a dream. Steve’s own sleeping beauty. 

Ava cries louder and the anti-gravity moment snaps. 

They both reach out for her, hands prepared to rock and mouths prepared to shush, and they end up hitting each other’s hands. Colliding in a way that has them both breaking out into laughter. Equally fumbling to make sure she’s okay and getting in each other's way. 

Steve lets Bucky get her, she is closer to the carrier after all. 

He makes it about five seconds before stumbling over his words again, “we’re both single.” 

Bucky has Ava already out of her carrier and resting against his chest, still swaddled, getting her to calm down easy as ever, “yes?” Bucky chuckles, gazing at him, eyes big and filled with… with what looks like pure  _ affection _ to Steve’s hopeful eyes. He resists the urge to sigh and squirm with high school level giddiness. “I thought that was pretty clear?”

“Yes. Yeah. It is. It was. But, like-” Steve might be having a heart attack or a panic attack, he’s not sure yet, “I want to date you. Not just kiss you once because I offered to babysit for you.” 

Bucky laughs so hard, his cheeks darkening right back to red, that it jostles Ava. She babbles something whiny and tries to grab his shirt with one of her arms that’s escaped the swaddle, “Oh,” Bucky gasps, “I. I- yeah. Yes. That sounds good.” 


	3. Daddy Will Be Home Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve does as he said he would and babysits Ava.

_Steve_

“Hello?” Steve lifts his phone to his ear and traps it there with his shoulder, answering without looking at the caller ID so he can stay focused on the patient chart he has spread across his desk for another second. He’s not done with it yet even though he was supposed to go home… he flicks his wrist so he can catch sight of his watch- he was supposed to leave an hour and a half ago.  _ Shit.  _

“Hi!” Steve sighs, “uhh, Steve. This is Bucky-” Steve snorts without meaning to; he would recognize Bucky’s voice anywhere at this point. Between the voice memos (along with galleries worth of pictures) they’ve taken to sending back and forth as well as random little rendezvous between work hours, he’s gotten to know his  _ boyfriend's _ voice well. He knows what he sounds like when he’s whispering into his phone so he won’t wake Ava up, when he’s energetically talking about something relating to his passion for computers or coding, when he’s still sleepy because he has yet to have time to grab any coffee, or when he’s only half paying attention to their conversation because he’s either trying to work or entertain Ava at the same time. But, somehow, he doesn’t know what he sounds like over the phone because they haven’t actually just plain old talked on the phone yet.  _ Huh.  _

“Yeah, hi Buck,” Steve responds, trying to pull himself out of the swirling symptoms and unexplained issues going on with an eighteen month old. 

“Wh-what’re you up to? Are you busy?” 

Steve snaps the file shut and throws his pen back into the cup where it lives when he’s not using it, “I’m about to not be?” 

Bucky laughs contently, “what’s that supposed to mean? Are you alluding to hanging up on me? Rude.” 

Sliding the file into his bag becomes about ten times more difficult when he’s laughing, “I am doing no such thing,” Bucky hums like he’s not convinced, “you’re not interrupting either, Buck, just- well I’m still at the hospital.” 

“Gross.” Steve leans back in his  _ very  _ comfortable desk chair, smiling at nothing, “why’re you still at work? Also- what? It’s Saturday. Saturday evening. I thought you had the day off?” 

Impulsively Steve shrugs before remembering that Bucky can, in fact, not see him, “just- got caught up in it I guess. Oh, yeah, I got, uhh, paged. So I had to come in,” he’s about to turn the conversation back on the brunette when he thinks of something better to do, “thank you for the wake up call, honey.” 

Bucky chokes on his giggles, all the way from his fingertips to his toes lights with relaxation and warmth. Tension bleeds out of his body the quickest it has in years, it’s like being dunked in a hot bath after getting stuck walking in the rain. In his head he can hear one of his old professor’s sarcastic voices,  _ laughter is the best medicine.  _ It is. She might not have thought so but, well, Steve knows so. 

“Anytime,” Steve can hear the laugh lines and crow's feet painting his pretty face through his voice. 

“Be careful with that,” Steve warns ominously, “I might get the wrong idea.” 

_ “Oh? _ How so?” Bucky purrs back.

“Mmm, well,” Steve relaxes more into his office chair, spreading his legs and letting his neck go lax, staring at the ceiling, it squeaks under his weight, “wake up calls are one thing but how do you feel about booty calls?”

Bucky chokes again, Steve doesn’t want to break character to laugh but he has to. His laughter is overlaid with a gasp as Bucky squeaks,  _ “Steve-!”  _

“What?” He shakes his head, picturing the blush that Bucky must be sporting and definitely  _ not  _ picturing the way he may or may not be squirming already. 

“Y-you’re at work,” he meekly offers, voice softened. 

“And?”  _ In for a penny in for a pound, _ “is that a problem for you because it’s not for me? I happen to have a private office.” Bucky sucks in an audible breath over the line. “People knock before they come in. The only people who know I had to come in today already have left and been replaced with the evening shift.  _ And  _ if you recall-” Steve bites the inside of his cheek which already hurts from grinning so intensely, “it’s after hours.” 

“You’re a _hazard,”_ Bucky whines. 

“You like it.” 

“I do.” 

Silence, comfortable like worn in denim, stretches out between them, taking up the space like a cat with an empty sunbeam or an unoccupied box. 

Steve takes the moment to put his phone on speaker, removing it from between his ear and shoulder and placing it down on his desk instead. Going about picking up odds and ends of things and sliding them into his bag, getting ready to leave. Double checking that he’s got everything with him - _keys, badge, wallet, phone, water bottle, bag, laptop_ - as Bucky makes some rustling noises of his own. 

“I’m leaving now.” He picks up his bag and swings it over his shoulder before realizing he’s still in his lab coat.  _ Details.  _ He puts it down again to remove the coat and puts on his jacket instead, asking, “what’s going on with you? What’d you do today?” 

Bucky hums, “nothing out of the ordinary for Saturdays, I’ve still got the revamp for Wilson going but I, unlike you, only looked at one email because it’s the  _ weekend. _ I went grocery shopping, entertained Ava, that sort of thing.”

“Mmm, maybe you’ll have to come in and talk to the hospital staff not about web safety but about this concept you speak of ‘the weekend’,” Bucky sighs good naturedly, “Wilson though, that’s the VA website right?” He asks, throwing his bag on for the second time. The correct time. 

“Yeah,” Bucky sounds like he’s grinning- like he’s impressed and glad that Steve remembered he was working on that. “But-” 

_ “Ah,” _ Steve teases, walking to the door, “I knew there was a reason you called and didn’t just text me.” 

_ “Hey! _ What if I just wanted to call you because?” 

Smirking as he locks his office behind him, Steve says, “nah, of course you can. Did you miss the first part of this conversation or something?” A moment of silence gives Steve all the information he needs to know. “Alright, shoot. Why’d you call me, Buck?”

He starts toward the stairs, hoping to avoid any eavesdroppers in the busy elevators, Bucky starts speaking, “I called you because I wanted to know if you were still down to babysit this week. I-” his voice trails off, Steve has no idea why he wouldn’t want to do it, so he lets Bucky finish before enthusiastically reassuring him, “I just wanted to be clear that, like, you don’t, like, have to say yes because we kissed. Because we’re dating. Or- I just wanted to tell you that. Directly. I… I could figure something else out, y’know? I mean, I’m not sure-”

_ “Bucky.” _ Steve soothes him, pausing between the flights of stairs. 

“Yeah?” 

“I want to babysit. I really do.” He gets moving again, stepping down slower than he normally would, he doesn’t want to faceplant on the concrete because he’s focusing on a conversation instead of walking. “I want to babysit for you, yeah, some of that is because we’re dating but mostly it’s ‘cause I like you and want to help you out and I like kids anyway. I know you wouldn’t force anything on me, okay?” 

“Okay, yeah-” Bucky blows out an audible breath, his voice taking on a much less stressed tone as he continues, “sweet, thank you. Again.” 

“Don’t even worry about it, it’ll be good for me,” Bucky laughs, “I would tell you that I’d do it anytime and that’s true, just so long as you take into account my own crazy, non-weekend having world.” 

“I know Steve,” Bucky says, soft and sweet. 

To distract himself from bursting with adoration Steve asks, “tell me about the convention and your schedule for it again?” 

Bucky settles into re-telling him about it as Steve tackles the stairs, gets to his car, and begins his drive home. It’s a small miracle that he doesn’t fall down the stairs or bump into anyone else along the way. 

He explains how the convention will only be three days long this time, running from Monday to Wednesday, taking place pretty much within workday hours but just a little extended. And because it’s outside Brooklyn, in Manhattan instead, he’ll be dropping Ava off at seven in the morning those days. (Apparently there’s also an economics element to the convention where cyber security overlaps and that’s why it’s in Manhattan, near wall street, but Bucky admits that he’s not really in on that part of it so it remains mostly a mystery to Steve.) 

Bucky worries about making him get up early to babysit and Steve has to scoff,  _ “Bucky, I get up at five forty five. I think I’ll be okay.”  _

_ “Jesus, I knew you got up early but… ugh, I am so fuckin’ glad I’m not a doctor, more so every day.”  _

Then Steve has to explain that while, yes, most doctors get up early to get in for work but he also gets up early so he can get in a run and, depending on the day, a workout in as well as a sort of decent breakfast before he showers and leaves his apartment. However, he’ll basically be getting back to his apartment at seven so that time is perfect for him. It’s worth explaining though because Bucky mumbles something under his breath about his abs. 

It takes him another couple of seconds to get back on topic and back at the right spot in his speech, when he finally does he tells him that he’d be back late, around nine p.m. to pick her up. At which point Steve  _ has _ to ask him why on Earth he wouldn’t just let him keep her overnight. His answer is pretty compelling,  _ “I can waffle through the security detail speeches I have memorized and could probably recite backwards in my sleep. You cannot treat patients like that. Plus, I’m practically used to the lack of sleep, you aren’t. Plus plus, I do not want to have to move all of the stuff she needs in order to sleep.”  _

Steve tries to argue anyway for a little longer just because Ava is nearly eleven months old, she’ll probably sleep through the night, but it’s futile. Bucky has it set in his mind and Steve lets it go, respecting his stubbornness. Well, he lets it go after his brain reminds him that it’s way too early to just have Bucky sleep over at his apartment for the duration of the convention. And it’s also not like he can invite himself over to spend those days at Bucky’s place. 

By the time they’re done working out all of the details Steve is pulling into his apartment complex’s parking garage and he’s asking Bucky what he thinks he should make for dinner because he’s out of ideas. 

“Pizza.” is Bucky’s answer.

_ “Pizza?” _ Steve repeats, charmed and amused by the simplicity of his answer.

“Pizza. At my place.” 

Steve smiles,  _ yeah,  _ pizza sounds good. 

Monday comes around a hell of a lot quicker than he thought it would. The rest of his Saturday gets wedged between the cushions of Bucky’s stupidly comfortable couch as they veg out together, chewing through most of a pizza and promptly falling asleep. Most of his Sunday ends up being lost to grocery shopping, meal prepping, and a little bit of endless social media scrolling- as per usual. 

The former two of which according to both Bucky and everyone else, sounds boring as hell even though it’s not. Steve finds it meditative. Besides, it’s not like he’s meal prepping and shopping in silence. He’s either listening to eighties rock and roll and dancing like nobody's watching because literally no one is and therefore it’s free game for him to make a fool of himself or he’s half watching whatever show he’s been meaning to catch up on slash start while doing it. Not to mention the fact that at least five to ten percent of the stuff he’s cooking ends up in his mouth by the end of it. 

So, yeah, it’s a good way to spend his only true day off. 

Monday is now and Steve greets the day with his alarm like always, five forty five sharp, before most of the birds have realized it’s morning- dark and calm. 

However, his alarm sounds better than normal this morning, already he’s full of butterflies and giddy feelings. And most people aren’t even awake. 

He slides out of bed anyway, swimming through the cool, inky air; he runs hot enough that after sweating all night the brush of quiet early morning is a relief rather than a rude awakening. He sweats in his sleep even when he strips down to his boxers and he would sleep naked if he wasn’t a doctor who has to jump out of bed occasionally- he’s had too many incidents of forgetting to put on his underwear and having to go commando under his scrubs, which is never fun. 

A groan involuntarily comes out of him as he reaches his arms over his head, stretching and reveling in the full body shutter it gives him. He unsteadily steps to his closet and tugging on his shorts and shirt first, Steve then stumbles into his socks and running shoes. Wandering about his place without bothering to turn any lights on he makes a pit stop at the bathroom to piss and comb through his hair with his fingers. He grabs his keys and wallet from the counter in the kitchen after refilling his water, bounding out of the door within ten minutes. 

Normally on Mondays he would only be going for a run and not also hitting the gym but he honestly felt like a kid the night before a field trip, tossing and turning, and he needs to work some of his energy out. 

So he hits the gym before he hits the pavement. 

And  _ still  _ he gets back to his apartment on time. 

He’s bounding up the stairs, ignoring the shaking of his quads and the pull of his calves after his run and light lifting session when he comes up to his door. When he sees Bucky at his door or, he’s turning to his door. He’s just got there evidently, reaching up to knock for the first time, Ava cradled in his arms. 

The first thing he thinks upon seeing this is  _ god, I guess I run faster than I think I do.  _

He doesn’t think about what he looks like as he walks up behind them but… Bucky certainly does think about what he looks like. 

“Bucky, hey,” Steve calls, reaching the top of the stairs landing, the brunette whorls around. Glancing up from Ava to search for the source of his voice, clearly confused. Ava babbles away, somehow spotting him first. 

Surprise consumes Bucky’s face for about three seconds before it melts into something else. 

Steve watches as his charcoal blue eyes run from his feet to his head, he pauses his step. Frozen under his eyes but also weirdly wanting to stay still. Bucky gets stuck on seemingly every part of his body, taking his time looking him over, still not speaking. He stares at his thighs, his waist, his chest, his arms, his neck, his face. Everything. Steve inhales a huge lungful of air, his heart rate picking back up- something about the non-exchange exchange has him sweating more. 

Confused, Steve looks down at himself. Half expecting to see a target painted on his chest or to find that maybe, somehow he didn’t put on clothes like he thought he did earlier. Like one of those nightmares you have in middle school about going to school naked. Frowning, he just sees sweat marks over his grey under armour shirt, swamping his neck and pits, beyond that he’s only in running shorts that are entirely unremarkable other than the fact that they actually fit his waist without him having to tie the strings and then his beat up old sneakers. He nearly physically shrugs instead of just mentally shrugging. 

By the time their eyes meet Bucky’s eyes are more black than grey blue. 

“Hey,” Steve says again - walking even closer after finding his body unfrozen - as he digs through his pockets. Lifting his keys up to Ava like they’re a prize worth showing off, pausing to jingle them in front of Ava for a moment instead of instantly getting right to unlocking his door for them. 

“Hi,” Bucky breathes to his back, voice rough and delayed. 

While he inserts his key into the deadbolt he’s hit with a brick of realization, straight to the back of his head, and-  _ oh. Yeah… that’d be it.  _

Steve feels the hot slither of Bucky’s pretty eyes roll over his back and stick to his ass, causing him to shiver. He's not dressed particularly interestingly. He’s- well, Bucky isn’t interested in his clothes at all. That’s not it at all. 

Suddenly he feels dumb for not picking up easier on Bucky’s sudden extra infatuation, his  _ want  _ Steve twists the handle to his door and waves them inside, barely resisting from laughing aloud to himself. If he’s being honest then, well,  _ fair enough.  _

He wouldn’t know what to do with himself with such an image of Bucky. All sweaty and-  _ yep. That needs to stop right now.  _

“H-” Steve clears his throat, asking, “how was your morning?” as he turns around to face Bucky and to shut the door behind him.

Bucky stands still, frozen, looking at him and not saying anything. Ava is looking at him and making a face. 

_ “Bucky,” _ Steve cracks, grinning, thinking about how well or not well he might react to having fingers snapped in front of his face to bring him back down to earth. Not that Steve would… he’s, he’s hot with embarrassment now, too embarrassed to actually do that but, y’know, there’s the  _ thought.  _

“Uh-” Bucky repositions a squirming Ava on his hip, bouncing her up slightly so she doesn’t slip out of the hold he’s got her in. It makes her giggle. Bucky licks his lips, smiling nervously, eyes still glued to his chest, “sorry. I-” he shakes himself, finally he looks up at him. Petals of some kind of foreign flower bloom in his chest, he doesn’t know whether to welcome the new feelings or to focus away from them. “What’d you say?” 

Bucky steps closer, indulging the way Ava makes grabby hands at him. He breathes, “I asked how your morning was,” as he takes her from her dad. Her little nose wrinkles up when he pulls her in close and she grabs for his sweat damp shirt, laughter bursts out of him, “yeah,” he cracks again, “sorry, sweetie, I don’t smell great right now, do I?” 

“Uck.” Is her only response. 

It makes whatever Bucky was going to say about their morning fall out of his laughter as gasping laughter. 

Feeling lighter by the second Steve’s body moves on auto pilot, sticking his tongue out at her to hear her giggle again and then pinching her nose lightly between his thumb and forefinger, proclaiming as he sticks his thumb between his first and middle fingers that now that he has her nose she certainly can’t complain about how bad he smells,  _ right? _

She tells him, “uuuck!” Getting more of a guttural sound this time, it’s adorably reminiscent of the sorts of grunting sounds he heard at the gym earlier in the morning, high and babyish but vaguely comparable. He shakes with laughter and might be actually glowing with all of the happiness swirling under his skin. She’s something special. Most babies are that easily responsive. 

“You do something to her I think,” Bucky says.

Giving her her nose back so he can boop it Steve asks, “you think so?” 

“Mmm, yeah.” He hums, more conversational now, “she’s usually grumpiest in the morning, or, well, after whenever she wakes up. Give her an hour though, then she’ll be crazy.” 

“So she takes after you?” Steve raises his eyebrow at Bucky. 

“Hey!” He says, mock offended at being called grumpy, however, he does lean in to kiss him on the cheek. So Steve doesn’t worry about it too much. 

_ “Hey,” _ Steve turns it back on him as he turns his head, murmuring the greeting into his mouth as they share a good morning kiss. Bucky doesn’t even complain about his probable morning breath or about his sweaty smell and come to think of that-

“Has she had a bath yet?” 

“Huh?” 

“I didn’t actually think about that,” he flushes, “I still need to shower,” Bucky’s eyes flick down to his soaked shirt and his face burns brighter, “and I can’t exactly watch her without her being with me. So, maybe, I could bathe her at the same time. If she hasn’t already had a bath that is.” Bucky rocks back onto the heels of his feet and Steve’s brain screams at him for how dangerous that sounds, “I- I mean. You can say no. Of course. I just- it’s a thing I hear parents talk about at work all the time. They just have their shower while their baby sits in the corner of the stall or tub or wherever, y’know? It’s not weird. Not… yeah. And- I mean she’s not mine so I’ll keep my shorts on-” 

Bucky grabs the little amount of slack that his shirt has. Pulling him forward and kissing him furiously. Intensely. Steve’s muscles all relax, melting into the kiss. 

“Shut up,” he mumbles into his mouth, Steve’s lips helplessly quirk into a smile. They keep kissing for a second longer. 

“No, no, I trust you. That’s- it’s just…” he flushes, coyly looking at him from under his eyelashes, taking advantage of the slight gap in their height, “I literally never thought of doing that. And- god. Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve wasted so much time,” his eyes widen like he’s literally counting every hour, “and so much worry.” They all break out into laughter, the two of them because,  _ yeah,  _ and Ava between them because she’s just along for the ride. 

“You- yeah.” Bucky tells him, recovering from their shared fit, “yeah. That sounds fine. But-” he holds up his phone apologetically, it’s nearly seven twenty already, “I’m gonna start running late really soon.” 

“Yeah,” Steve offers, nodding uselessly, “I’ll see you tonight.” 

With that Bucky leans down to kiss Ava goodbye, brushing his lips against the top of her head as he tells her, “bye-bye, have fun today, okay?” 

He straightens up some and Ava looks straight up at him, following his movement, squeaking “dadda-!” 

Bucky nods, waving kiddishly at her after kissing the top of her head again, mouthing  _ “bye-bye” _ at her. He takes a step back and then another two forward, coming in close to leave him with one last kiss for the road, square on the lips.  _ “Tonight,” _ he whispers like a promise, their mouths still close enough to brush. 

Steve’s heart flutters and his skin sings underneath Bucky’s lips, coming alive as if Bucky is his royal savior- kissing him and turning him to a human prince. 

Their shower goes swimmingly, Ava is more than happy to squish and pull at his shower loofah as she sits in the corner of the shower stall, her back to the tile wall and glass stall wall, while he washes sweat and grit from his skin, stripped only down to his boxers. 

She’s even happier when he sits down on the floor with her (he’s not normally clumsy or anything but something about holding a wet baby while also under the spray of the shower sounds like a disaster waiting to happen) and uses the loofah to wash her rather than as a play toy. She keeps repeating the word “tickle” after he asks her if it tickles. He’s not sure if she’s familiar with the concept or not. He’ll have to investigate that later. 

Toweling off is more complicated just because Steve doesn’t really want to put her on the counter because she could certainly crawl or fall off of it, but he also doesn’t just want to put her on the floor because surely his bathroom’s floor isn’t actually as clean as it looks and he also doesn’t want to leave her in the shower because she’s discovered that glass is a thing and he’s not even going to try to shut her in the stall so she can’t crawl her way to trouble. Plus, she doesn’t seem to be claustrophobic… he’s not going to make her be. (Even if he knows, as a kid’s doctor, that it’s very hard to traumatize an infant with a single incident because they likely won’t remember it at all but- she’s different. It  _ feels _ different with her. She’s his boyfriend’s baby and therefore a baby he cares about likely too much.) 

Once he figures it out though - he puts her in the sink and gives her back the loofah even though it’s still wet - it takes surprisingly nearly the same amount of time to get out of the house. Bucky texted him in the shower to tell him that he forgot to mention that she’s already been fed so he doesn’t have to pause to do that. They can just pretty much leave as soon as they’re both dressed. 

Armed with the memorized knowledge of how kids of all ages need to be strapped into their car seat and with Bucky’s car seat their drive goes well. She only cries for a couple of minutes, stopping on her own before he can get to pulling over. And they then arrive at the hospital. 

At the hospital people are instantly all over him because they either know he is not a father yet (despite some of the more bold interested parties offering to make him one) and need to question where he found such a cute baby  _ (“Finally cave and adopt, Dr. Rogers?” “Oh! Who’s this? Who did Dr. Rogers steal you from honey?” “Dr. Rogers! Still single other than your sidekick there?”) _ or they’re in need of something from him which is the usual. Consults, signatures, approval for tests, wants for him to speak to parents, etc. He feels overwhelmed instantly, throwing orders or requests over his shoulder as he pushes a path through the seemingly huge crowd to the elevator, all of his normal responsibility piling onto his new one. 

Dropping Ava off with the hospital’s daycare facility makes everything much, much more manageable. 

He even manages to not feel guilty about leaving her because he knows how good the nurses who run it are, how hard they work, and he knows they’re paying their full attention to him when he tells them how often she should eat and what she should be having. Handing over the cooler bag Bucky gave him, filled with some purees and formula bottles as he explains it all. 

It’s a different daycare then the one where sick, possibly contagious young patients who are in the hospital for the current long-term or short-term will go, obviously; this daycare is designed for hospital staffer’s kids. After all the hospital has to lead by example so they have to have excellent health care for their employees. And that includes providing parents with childcare if need be. Steve has never been more appreciative of it. 

Steve doesn’t get time to check in with them, daycare and Ava, until his lunch rolls around. 

He has a lot more fun at lunch than he thought he would, normally lunch is spent in his office, hiding from the chaos outside and trying to relax for the hour. Maybe scrolling through Instagram or through the news but probably just listening to music as he eats. It’s not like that when he spends the break with Ava in the break room on the floor of the daycare area. 

Ava is very entertaining to feed, plus, as with most kids, watching them eat and figure out where their mouth and hand is is pretty fun. He spoons some pumpkin puree to her, takes a couple bite of his sandwich, feeds her some more, feeds himself, helps her with her sippy cup, drinks from his own water bottle, and so on and so forth until they’ve both finished. 

When they have he snaps a picture of Ava. Capturing her with a bright plastic spoon held between her lips, her big owlish brown eyes wide, her sweet little face an entire mess, her hair brushed back from her face haphazardly (Bucky didn’t give her a headband today), her hands outstretched because as he hovers over her with his phone to take the photo she’s sure he’s going to pick her up and she is down for it. Her bib is one of the hospitals, it’s disposable and plainly patterned but it’s done it’s job, her clothes aren’t ruined. 

It’s Steve’s best work, most of the time when he is asked to take pictures of kids he miserably fails at it. However, she looks adorable and picture perfect and it’s definitely her photogenicness that has made the photo what it is but she can’t talk yet, so for now, Steve will take the credit. 

He debates sending it to Bucky with or without a caption, he doesn’t even know when he has a lunch break so he’s not sure if he’ll see it or be able to respond anyway. 

Ultimately he does send a caption too, he can’t help himself, simple and sweet and hopefully uplifting because Bucky’s convention sounds exhausting-

**_Ava is a pretty good lunch date but I still miss you_ **

Steve checks the time as after he sends it, staring aimlessly at their conversation for a moment or two, waiting to see if those three dots will appear or not. They don’t. But it’s almost time for him to get back to work anyway, so it’s probably better that he doesn’t text back. 

By the time Steve burps Ava, cleans her up, hands her off back to the nurses, and then reaches his regular floor of the hospital his phone does buzz though. A flare of longing lights up in his stomach. He wasn’t lying when he said he missed Bucky, which is silly because he saw him this morning but… still. 

Steve is treated to seeing not just Bucky’s words or a string of carefully handpicked emojis but a microphone icon and a collection of different, nearly haphazardly, sized bars. A voice memo. Steve selects play and quickly lifts his phone to his ear, just to be sure that he hears the exact message. 

The message is humming with low level chatter in the background, Steve can’t help but picture crowds of people roaming a convention center floor, flooding around booths like water. Bucky’s laugh lights up the buzzing sound, pleased and sweet, Steve smiles hugely at the sound.  _ “That’s a really, really cute picture, Steve. But now I’m just thinking about getting to have lunch with you, you jerk.” _ Steve laughs out loud and gets a couple of strange looks from other people in the hallway, he doesn’t care, Bucky’s recorded voice continues on,  _ “I’m supposed to be professional today. Not a pile of goop thinking about my- my kid and my boyfriend.”  _

Steve’s head replays the sound over and over in his head, all of it, yeah, but mostly just the last parts  _ you jerk. My boyfriend. My boyfriend. You jerk.  _ He feels a blush creep up from his chest to his neck and finally onto his face. 

His phone buzzes in his hand while he daydreams, startling him out of his head and into the real world. 

Lowering his phone from his ear he nearly swoons as he reads an addition message from Bucky,  _ his boyfriend-  _

**_I miss you too by the way._ ** 💕 

**_Both of you_ **

Just that little exchange stays in Steve’s brain for the rest of his day, in fact, it’s such a heavy presence in his brain for the remainder of the day that not just one or two but three of the patient’s he sees ask him why he’s so smiley or so much happier than normal. Being asked makes him smile wider and more often. It’s a vicious cycle. 

Later, when he and Ava make it home safe, Steve lays her out on her tummy after laying out a blanket and an assortment of toys to keep her busy. Making sure to check that he’ll be able to see her from over the kitchen island unless she crawls away, but even then, his apartment is pretty open. He nods to himself, he should be able to see her just fine. He double checks that all of his outlets are either being used or child proofed and they are, so he doesn’t have to worry about that. He just has to pick up and put away some odds and ends of things, pens, cups, remotes- anything that she may find and assume is fair game to play with. 

While Ava has tummy time Steve busies himself with turning on some music, low enough to near her if she starts to cry or if she wanders elsewhere, but still loud enough to enjoy, as well as finishing prepping his dinner. Stir fry tonight because it’s easy and because he already made the rice and has vegetables cut as well as left over shredded chicken breast that needs to be used up. 

Mid slight hip sway and hum Steve’s mind wanders away, much like the clumsy toddling way that Ava moves, sinking into a fantasy that’s so domestic and just… purely innocent that it makes him blush. 

He’s not looking at Ava in that moment, he’s trying to not cut his fingers off with the knife he’s wielding, and so it’s easy to think about how Bucky could be playing on the floor with her. 

Reading to her or maybe singing to her along with the music he’s playing, maybe tickling her, making her giggle until she’s squealing. Giggling himself too. Laid on his back as she sprawls out on his chest and stomach or maybe on his own stomach too, feet up in the air, carefree. Snuggling close to her amidst the spread of toys and soft things- an infant’s dream environment, warm and soft and lovely. Either way, his hair would be wild because Ava always seems to tug on it when it’s in her reach and he never stops her from doing it, plus he keeps running his fingers through it after, trying to tuck it away, behind his ears. And just ends up messing it up even more accidentally. He’d be smiling, easy and wide the way he does around Ava because he melts for her. He loves her so much. His eyes would also be soft and loving because his eyes,  _ god,  _ his eyes, they’re so expressive and so fucking pretty. Sparkly and wide and unique. 

He’d be more than content to just sit with Ava and let her do as she likes but he’d also probably want to help him in the kitchen. He’s the kind of person who always wants to help, always wants to do good. 

He’d probably get up after a while, stretching, giving Ava one of her stuffed animals before he rises so she won’t fuss. Leaving her alone for a second just so he could get up and pad over to his side. Quietly coming over. Hugging him around the waist and burying his pretty face into his shoulder, waiting for him to turn and let him rest his head on his chest anyway, shy about it.  _ Fuck,  _ he’d probably be blushing, blushing and sweet and homey. 

Steve suddenly wants nothing more than to text Bucky and tell him,  _ fuck it, both of us can be tired. Let me sleep at your place tonight.  _ but he doesn’t. He won’t. That’s… that’s probably moving way too fast, way too soon. 

Instead of letting his imaginary Bucky have all the fun and read to Ava for the whole night in his head Steve finds a kids picture book and reads it to her off his phone, sparingly letting her actually look at the pictures off of his phone because he’s not fully clear on what Bucky’s policies are as far as her amount of screen time are, while vegetables cook on the stove top.

And he may not have been confident enough to hold Ava in the shower for fear of her squirming and being too slippery for him to hold onto her; he is confident enough to hold her while he plates their dinner. She seems to be interested in it, how it smells and looks, and so he mushes some of the rice and veggies up with the back of his fork as they eat, feeding it to her along with her formula and assortment of purees. He’s not sure just based on her reaction alone if she’s never had stir fry before or if she’s just not had it that much but, either way, she eats it. 

So it can’t be  _ that  _ bad. 

He burps her, cleans her face, unties her bib, and sets her back down in her carrier once he’s also done eating so she can start to get to sleep before Bucky comes back to pick her up. 

She goes down for the count a hell of a lot faster than he assumed she would, he only has to rock the carrier on his bed for a couple of minutes, humming as he watches her eyes get heavier and heavier, also seeing how less enthused the pulls at her pacifier get as she drifts off. Shaking his head at how easy that was compared to other experiences Steve’s heard and seen. He can hear Bucky’s voice in his head,  _ she’s a great sleeper,  _ as he tiptoes out of his bedroom. Shutting the door only half way so he’ll hear if she wakes up but also so she hopefully will have some cushion from the white noise of the TV. 

**_Bzz Bzz Bzz_ **

Steve sucks in a heavy inhale, blinking his eyes open, swallowing thickly, and groaning in the back of his throat- it’s been long enough since his workout and extra fast run that he’s sore now. His lower body muscles groan back at him along with the ones in his neck from falling asleep on the couch. The TV is still on, murmuring lowly and lighting the room dimly- although it’s changed to a different show from the crime show that he had been watching. It looks like there’s some sort of reality TV now. 

_ “Mmmmmhh,”  _ Steve internally groans again, stretching his arms out over his head to wake himself up more, he feels his phone slip from where it was resting on top of his spread thigh to in between his legs. The couch catches it thankfully, no shattered screens today,  _ no, sir. _

_ What?  _ Steve thinks fuzzily, yawning so hard and wide that his eyes water,  _ why am I awake? When did I even fall asleep? _

His phone buzzes again, against the couch this time, not against his leg and,  _ ah. That’s what woke me up.  _

Steve unlocks his phone, picking it up and rubbing his eyes one handed, clicking on the messaging icon. He’s got two new messages, both from Bucky. 

**_I’m outside_ ** 😊 **_I don’t wanna wake Ava up so I'm not gonna knock or ring the doorbell_ **

Then another one, a few minutes later-

**_Steve?_ **

Rather than texting back, Steve climbs to his feet, nearly falling over as his vision dissolves into a sheet darkened sparkles from getting up so quickly after sleeping, his blood pressure dropping. His muscles again make themselves known but he walks towards the door anyway, ignoring the slight pain of having microtears in his muscles, he doesn’t want Bucky to worry. He’s fine. Ava’s fine. Everything is okay. He’s not not responding because he’s dead or because he’s in trouble. He’s just tired. Just formerly dead to the world by conking out on the couch, falling asleep to the TV like he too is an infant that needs white noise to sleep. 

Stumbling to the door takes longer than it would when he’s not half awake but every extra second is worth it because the additional times will hopefully make him not look like he’s just woken up and subsequently is a mess- hopefully at least he’s a  _ hot  _ mess if he is a mess. 

“Hi,” Steve greets, swinging the door open. Bucky jumps as if he wasn’t waiting outside his apartment, asking to be let in via text. He looks up from his phone, mouth parted slightly, Steve clears his throat, “Sorry,” he rubs the back of his neck, “I, uhh, I didn’t mean to worry you. Or scare you just now,” he chuckles, “I fell asleep by accident.” 

Bucky smiles softly at him, dropping his phone from in front of him so he can walk forward and be unimpeded as he steps into his space, half collapsing into his arms as he hugs him, “it’s okay. You don’t need to worry about it,” he mumbles into his chest. 

Steve’s arms come up around him on autopilot, holding Bucky against his chest where his heart has settled back into a sleepy rhythm, calmed by his easy forgiveness and closeness. He believes Bucky. Wholeheartedly. “Yeah,” Steve whispers back. “How was it?” 

He doesn’t want Bucky to pull back just yet, but he does want to hear about his day so he’s thankful when the brunette doesn’t take his prompt as a call for less physical contact. This and more is more than fine. Bucky sways closer if anything, snuggling into him, unconcerned with how they’re standing out in the open. “Long. Exciting but… long,” He pauses for a second, Steve flushes, hearing Bucky deeply inhale. Hopefully he still smells somewhat like his cologne and deodorant after a full day, he doesn’t want Bucky to think he smells like a walking, talking gym twenty four seven. Bucky hums, “I’ll tell you about it when my brain isn’t so fried,” a few airy chuckles bubble up from his fuzzy, warm chest.

“M’kay.” 

They stand there in the hallway, just outside of his apartment, quiet but meaningful in their silence as they all but vertically cuddle. Slightly swaying for a couple of nonsensical moments. 

The late hour - well  _ late  _ for them, a parent and pediatrician - makes it feel dreamy and watery, nearly thick with the dark purples and blues and stretched shadows surrounding them. Making each other into the other’s personal island of color and warmth. It feels like the moment should be part of a dream, not a memory unfolding in real time. 

“Wanna come inside real quick?” He hums, apologizing for asking that they move by brushing his lips to Bucky’s temple, kissing the words into existence. He’d stay here forever if he could. 

Bucky lifts his head from where it had been resting on his chest, leaning back just a touch to be able to meet his eyes. He looks tired but not dead on his feet, his eyes are still lively, filled with hope, “yeah.” 

Neither of them move. 

They keep swaying. Entranced by something. 

Maybe just by each other. 

Steve speaks up again after an unknown amount of time, everything melting together, “Ava’s asleep in her carrier in my bedroom, you should be able to just take her and put her in your car without waking her up. She was a dream today.” Bucky leans in and kisses him chastely. Steve can’t stop himself from smiling into the quick press of lips. “Have you had dinner yet?” He murmurs into the little world stretching to fit both of them and only them in it. 

The brunette’s eyebrows furrow slightly as he speaks, “kind of. There’s always a bunch of snacks floating around, but-?” he shrugs, not bothering to finish his thought out loud. Steve knows anyway. 

_ “Mmm,” _ their foreheads meet gently, “I made some stir fry earlier,” he whispers, staring into the mountain pool depths of his eyes, “the leftovers are in the fridge with your name on it.” 

Bucky smiles wider, pressing impossibly closer, his words bursting with joy, “I seriously hope you didn’t write my name on any of your Tupperware with a sharpie, Steve.” 

He laughs quietly into their shared space, shaking his head, “I didn’t think of that. Next time.” 

“I swear to god-” 

Steve kisses him before he can finish and then finishes for him, pulling back just to tug on his wrist, “c’mon, it’s getting late."


	4. Daddy's Day In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More dates and even more sexual tension.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Just to be aware before you read this chapter:**  
>  There's very brief descriptions of a few medical emergencies involving teens and young kids up until the first break in the text (the wide space that I put in to be a time skip indicator) following the sentence _"She’s the smartest person Steve has met."_ so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing be weary.  
> It's not huge, just a here and then gone description because Steve is looking back on his week as a pediatrician but I figured I'd warn you here anyway.

_Steve_

Tuesday and Wednesday are mercifully normal for Steve, like, seriously- it’s almost like the universe knows that Steve has Ava with him and therefore spares any possible severe emergency patients from coming into the hospital. Acting as a guardian angel instead of a nuisance for once- it’s a first really.

However, the same mercy cannot be applied to the next couple of days for that week. 

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday all pass in a haze of five separate urgent, serious medical emergencies with patients under eighteen. Meaning they fall onto his shoulders, which, _yes,_ is what he got into being a pediatrician for but… it’s still stressful as hell. 

He’s so caught up in the pediatric ward of the hospital that he doesn’t work in the ER for those three days unless you count going in to receive the transferred patients. Personally, he does not think that counts but- whatever. 

Thursday has only one emergency, almost like a warning, like the universe is ramping up exponentially, and Steve gets called in at four. _Four. In the morning._ The reason is that of a teenage driver. Not that he blames her. The poor kid is just sixteen and was driving at night for the first time- she just got her license. 

He never got the full story, he just got the list of procedures that the in-house emergency surgeon had done throughout the night and into the morning and a pat on the back, being passed the olympic torch of caretaking for this girl. They wanted her to be under observation by a doctor just in case something slipped through their fingers (plus some of her bandages would need to be changed pretty soon), they also wanted him there to explain all that was happening to the parents and siblings. And at least the siblings had been older, younger would’ve been worse. Usually the younger kids cry and cry without knowing why they’re crying which is only about a million times worse than watching older kids cry a little but nod and follow his lecturing. The older they are the less he has to explain and the easier they are to comfort. 

Friday has two incidents that don’t actually require him to come in early, just to stay late. The first comes in around noon, so it’s at least more timely- and it’s not completely catastrophic in the same way that Thursday’s had been. 

Which, speaking of Thursdays, it ended up being moved out of their hands- she was recovering fine so far, meaning she hadn’t gotten worse yet, so her parents had signed off on moving her to the regular ward rather than the children’s because she was sixteen and was their youngest child. It made sense. Steve was only passingly upset to not be able to watch and make sure that she would end up being fine and getting the care that she needed, after all, he was distracted by the three and a half year old that was rushed to the ER for sudden loss of a heart rate due to a hard blow to the front of the chest. Commotio cordis at it’s finest.

The poor kid had gotten kicked by an older sibling (who stayed back at home with grandma) on accident. He had just hit the ground pretty much instantly and added to his issue by giving himself a mild concussion. 

Normally commotio cordis occurs in older kids because of athletics- in sports like baseball or hockey where fast, hard objects hit the chest and force the heart to stop beating essentially due to shock from the impact on the chest wall. And normally kids can’t fucking kick that hard. So everyone is a little thrown, as well as explaining commotio cordis to the parents once they’ve stabilized their three year old's heart rate he has to run through other symptoms that they might’ve brushed off as well as to verify their story. Steve had ordered an EKG just to be sure that his heart was doing what it should’ve been. It was not. 

The test found that he has WPW syndrome (wolff-parkinson-white syndrome), meaning that his heart has an extra electrical pathway from a birth defect, resulting in tachycardia (a rapid heart rate) and probable weak athletic abilities later in life. It was not the most fun thing to explain but it’s also not like the kid is going to die (if statistics stay on his side that is), he might not even need surgery eventually, maybe just medication. So it’s fine. 

Fine in the same way that the following accident is fine, another younger kid, this time an eighteen month old, who comes in at four (p.m. this time, not a.m.) with a normal thing. 

Well, a normal thing within Steve’s world and what he sees from day to day. The kid hit his head. That’s normal. Most parents, especially first time parents, bring their kids in for hitting their head even if they don’t need to. Better safe than sorry though. The kid had a diastatic skull fracture (a fracture that runs up the fuse lines naturally occurring in everybody’s skulls, widening it too much) from hitting his head on the corner of a coffee table because he wasn’t as good at walking as he thought he was. However he has weird symptoms so rather than going home Steve stays, he’s honestly a little curious as well as just being plain old concerned. 

He’s not crying like most every kid would and he’s also not vomiting or fussing or acting as if he’s dizzy. He’s normal. With a clear fracture. 

Which is fucking _weird._

On one hand, _yes,_ it totally could’ve been shock kicking in but it might also not’ve been. So Steve circled up a group of nurses to brainstorm, whether to shock or not, they need to be prepared. The whole medical school saying of- _if you hear hooves think horses not zebras._ Sure, the kid _could_ have had congenital insensitivity to pain - the most famous of the famous conditions that cause the sufferer to be unable to feel pain - but the kid might’ve just had a weirdly high pain tolerance, it might’ve been a symptom, it might’ve been anything else. He was kept overnight (Steve did not fall asleep in the staff break room on the couch, he did _not)_ and nothing else came of it, by the morning he was back to normal. Normal as in crying and screaming because fracturing anything, much less your skull, _hurts._

So, horses. Not zebras. 

Saturday he had to stay in because the pediatrician whose hours are exactly opposite to his couldn’t work because they were out of town for some reason. Steve doesn’t remember why and he’s going to blame it on the sleep deprivation. 

The first of that day’s adventures had been a fourteen year old who nearly gave himself a heart attack because of the amount of caffeine he ingested during a sleepover game of truth or dare. Teenagers. Fun. Steve remembers being one well. 

One of the kid’s buddies who was older and had a driver’s license had driven him to the ER, explaining that he had a friend in his passenger seat who had told him that his heart felt weird before passing out. Why neither of them dialed nine one one… Steve will never know but will always be stressed over. 

Another EKG was performed after one round with a defibrillator and all seems to be fine, other than mass amounts of caffeine in his system. Mom arrives, Steve explains, and then Steve exits. He can hear the whisper-yells of his mother from outside the room, fair enough, who in their right mind - even considering teenagers - chugs three FULL SIZED Monster Energy Drinks followed by a 5-Hour Energy not even an hour later when they don’t even normally drink coffee in the morning? 

Saturday’s second issue is one that makes Steve put in another order of childproof outlet covers from Amazon even though he knows all of the ones in his place are covered (because when he began working at this hospital someone, somehow ordered about twice the amount that they should’ve and so everyone was encouraged to take them home). Still. He has to do it. A kid gets… gets _badly_ electrocuted and the less said about it the better. 

Burns are difficult to see on adults, skin or even muscle blistered and pink and raw and dying, painful with even the lightest of touches. Making them wince with every twitch or tiny movement. Bringing even the toughest people to their knees. 

But on kids? They’re unbearable to see. 

As compensation for his crazy couple of days the dean of medicine herself comes into his office and tells him with a more than slightly pinched look on her face to _“take the upcoming week off, Dr. Rogers. I don’t know what has gotten into you or into the world or the kids around here but we’ll see if it keeps up when you get back. Until then, go-”_ a strange look crosses her face, _“go do whatever it is that you like that isn’t work.”_ She shuts the door behind her, getting away so he can’t try and argue with her. 

She’s the smartest person Steve has met. 

Steve makes it all the way until Tuesday, _(yes, Tuesday-_ he’s that weak) before crumbling and picking up his phone to call Bucky, complaining about just how fucking bored he is. He already knows he has the week off but he has yet to know how much it’s getting to him. 

It’s not like he can help it though. He’s a doctor, an overachiever, a perfectionist, and a people person- he’s used to working all of the time around a ton of people, plus, with medical school and then residency and then deciding to work in a hospital and not in an office with pre-scheduled appointments he hasn’t had time to develop an adulthood hobby besides working out and meal prepping. And he can’t just workout or chop vegetables for the entire week until he’s allowed to go back to work. It’s also not like he can sit down and watch TV, well, he should be able to do that but-

“Lemme guess. But you can’t sit still for that long,” Bucky sounds like he’s trying to hold in a howling fit of laughter. Steve doesn’t blame him. He is being pretty pathetic and dramatic here. He’d do basically the same if Bucky was complaining about the same thing.

 _“No!”_ Steve whines back, playing his agony up because at least entertaining Bucky is sort of doing something. 

“Okay, well, would you be able to watch TV if you were with me?” 

“Huh?” Steve has already started re-organizing his already organized silverware drawer, putting his phone on speaker and placing it down on the counter, as they talk, needing something to do with his hands. 

“Would you sit still for at least _one second_ if you weren’t watching TV by yourself?” 

Steve thinks about it for a couple of seconds, filling his head with thoughts and the clinking sound of forks against each other. The proposition hits him on a delay but when it does hit him he can’t not laugh.

“Are you asking me to Netflix and chill with you? _Really?”_

Bucky sputters, _“no-!_ No.” Steve feels his lips curl into a cheek achingly wide smile- he can see the pretty blush that must be covering Bucky’s face clearly in his mind’s eye. He can hear it in his voice too as he squeaks, “not li-like _that_ at least.” 

_“Oh,_ so you could be thinking about it like _that?”_ He shoots it right back, _god,_ this is the least bored he’s felt since Saturday. This is _fun._ He wishes he could see Bucky’s face or maybe see his hands as they cover his face thanks to his embarrassment- that would be even more fun. 

“No. Nope. Not at all.” Bucky snips back. 

_“Aw,_ not even a little? I’m insulted.” Steve can _feel_ the way Bucky’s pretty lips fall open and then close and repeat the cycle so he jumps in before Bucky can worry himself silly, “I’m kidding by the way, you can think of me however you want to.” 

“Hahaha,” Bucky rasps, “I-” he coughs, “I know, I just wanted to return the favor, y’know, you made me dinner already, several times already for the convention. So, come over and actually have dinner and actually watch Netflix with me, ‘kay? Tonight?” 

“Yeah. I- yeah. Okay.” Really it sounds a hell of a lot better than just _“okay”_ but it’s the only word that will come out of his mouth so he settles for it.

"What're we having?" Steve inquires after parting from the greeting kiss he gets at the door, throwing the words to where Bucky is shutting and locking the door while making a beeline for the kitchen where Ava is sitting. She’s already in her high chair at the end of Bucky’s kitchen island so he must’ve arrived just in time (even though, yes, he just arrived when Bucky told him but that’s not the point). Her chair has four wooden legs with an also wooden foot rest but the seat is white plastic and it’s cushioned with a thick, grey blanket and grey straps to hold her in and keep her from falling. 

Bucky laughs either at his enthusiasm to see Ava or at Ava’s enthusiasm to see him (she’s staring wide eyed and open mouthed at him, wiggling a little), Steve doesn’t actually know which. But it doesn’t matter, not when Bucky cheerfully tells him, “spaghetti,” padding up behind him as he undoes the clips of the safety straps that hold Ava into her highchair. Her adorable chanting request of sputtering  _ “up, up, up!” _ s is only quieted when he undoes the last clip. 

_ Smart kid. Damn.  _

“Spaghetti?” Steve echoes, hefting Ava up into his arms and turning around to see Bucky. 

“Yeah,” he flushes, looking at the floor, “I’m not much of a chef, okay?” 

Steve steps forward into his space, pecking his cheek and nosing his jaw until he looks up again, he purposefully makes the kiss a loud one in order to get Ava to giggle. And she does. “Okay,” he offers, not making it a big deal because it’s not. The only reason he knows how to cook anything is because he works out and you really can’t outrun a bad diet. Bucky rolls his eyes but he apparently can’t stop himself from smiling and leaning into his space because that’s just what he does. 

“I can’t really cook, but I try,” Steve hums in acknowledgement, trying is always good, “and boiling water isn’t that hard.” 

Steve chuckles, “mmm, yeah, though some people can’t even do that right it seems.” 

Bucky laughs, throwing him a supermodel smile as he steps away to take the lid off of the pot on his stove, stirring the spaghetti in question and absentmindedly adding, “opening cans and boxes isn’t that hard either, ergo… spaghetti.” 

“Did I mention that I like spaghetti?” 

“Good,” he hums, “could you get some plate out? They’re in-” 

After setting the table (a.k.a. Bucky’s breakfast bar because he doesn’t actually have any space for a dining room table in his apartment) with plates, silverware, napkins, and cups, they sit down to eat. Bucky insists that he serve them and makes a big show of asking him, “that enough?” several times because he knows how much he’s often ruled by his appetite and hummingbird metabolism. Steve nearly says “no” the last time he offers more, just to mess with him, but he ends up shaking his head instead- he’s laughing too hard to do anything else. Filled with enough sunbeam warm glee to feed just on this, just their interactions, and not need anything else. 

But he’s sure as hell going to eat what Bucky made for him anyway. And you can bet on that. 

Bucky sits down on one side of the bar (the kitchen side), Steve sits on the other (the living room side), and Ava is put in between them at the end of the bar where her high chair sits comfortably. 

Her plate is plastic and just as bright as the spoons Bucky had loaned to him for the three days of babysitting he did. She doesn’t have a bottle this time- just a plate of varying purees, some thick soup consistency, others a little more chunky. One of the pools even looks basically like chili. For the moment she’s content to try and feed herself but neither of them are sure of how long that will last so they’re making the most of it by shoveling their own dinners into their faces. 

“Mmm,” Bucky acknowledges his acknowledgement of her lack of a bottle with a hum. He finishes his mouthful of food before answering, “she got fussy before you got her so I gave it to her early.” 

“Cool, I just didn’t want you to forget,” he teases, swirling his fork to load it up with noodles, “I know I’m a great distraction.” 

Bucky barks a laugh out, smirking, “at least you’re aware.” 

_ “Daaa-dadda!” _ Ava’s shrill little voice pierces their atmosphere. 

Bucky visibly melts from cool and confident to sappy and sweet, his smirk disappearing and being replaced with a content little smile that’s only noticeable if you know what his resting face really looks like, otherwise you’d miss it. Steve’s heart melts with him. 

_ “Yeah?” _ He asks, turning his whole body towards her, taking advantage of the stool he’s sitting on. 

_ “Fffff-” _ she tries. She stops and drops her spoon back onto her plate, her bottom lip jutting out like she’s angry at it for not working right. Steve can feel the impending ache building in his cheeks from being so light and carefree around them both; by tomorrow morning it’ll feel like he’s worked out his face, his muscles sore from use. Bucky nods exaggeratedly, encouraging her, “fooood,” she finishes proudly. 

“Do you want help with your food?” 

Ava picks up her spoon and gestures at the older brunette with it, looking a little bit like a tiny pirate threatening someone with a sword. Steve holds his breath, chewing at the same time, trying not to laugh while he’s eating because if he does surely that’ll create a mess akin to what Ava has going. 

“M’kay,” he scoots his plate and stool extra close, plucking her spoon from her tiny hand, scooping her chili looking puree up, lifting it to her mouth. Pausing so she can catch up and open her mouth. 

Bucky feeds her a handful more bites, getting through chili-like stuff and onto a puddle of green, occasionally taking a pause to ask her if she needs a drink or not. The answer seems to always be yes. Even when she’s just had a break to drink. It’s sweet that Bucky asks every single time without fail though, even if he already knows the answer and even though she can just reach over and grab it herself. She’s pretty proficient with sippy cups. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, confessing to him, “I’m not sure why she’s so thrilled with drinking on her own, but she is.” Ava makes a grumpy, huffy noise- they both fall into a bout of laughter. “Alright, say ahh you comedic genius,” Bucky wheezes, holding her loaded spoon up to her mouth. 

Steve grins, “huh,” shaking his head. She really does seem to just have an excellent sense of  _ now. Now is when I try to talk. Just wait- it’s gonna make them lose their shit.  _ He goes to take another bite but he ends up just looking at his plate and realizing that he’s basically done, he’s only got a couple of bites left really. Bucky has still a little more than half of what he started with and the words, “tag team with me. It’s my turn,” slip out of his mouth before he can even process that he’s thought of them. 

He’s offered the brightly colored spoon with a bright smile in the same way Ava originally offered it to her dad, pointed directly towards him like a sword. Like a physical token of a metaphorical passing of the caretaking torch. 

It’s strangely less threatening with a grown man and not a tiny girl even though it should be the other way around- perhaps he just has a soft spot though. 

Steve ends up feeding Ava the rest of her dinner. But that’s not to say that it’s a chore. It’s lovely. 

It started with casual reminders of  _ “say ahh” _ and has quickly derailed into making faces and sounds at her in a way that only vaguely communicates that she needs to open her mouth. Not that she needs the reminder, she really is smart and she seems to have enough object permanence to continue to open her mouth at the right time. And it’s not even like it’s helping that much, he’s making Ava giggle too much for it to be efficient but he’s also making himself giggle and he’s making Bucky giggle and so who cares? It’s fun- so much fun that he can’t stop laughing and his heart is pouring over with good feelings, glitter and sunlight spilling from within him. Meshing into everything and making the whole world seem a little brighter and happier. And that’s all that matters.

Bucky ends up mostly finishing his own dinner and bumping his elbow over the table, seamlessly taking the spoon from his hand so he can feed Ava. Steve takes the intermission to take a couple of bites from his previously set aside dinner but ends up returning the favor as soon as he can. Not because Bucky actually has all that much dinner left to finish but because there’s so much excess playfulness circulating in the cozy air of Bucky’s apartment that it’s impossible for some of it to not have rubbed off on him. 

He gives over the spoon, sagely nodding and saying, “tag team.” all serious up until he starts giggling.

“Tag team!” Steve grins at them both, guiding the spoon into Ava’s mouth. She’s tapping on the table of her highchair, energized by their antics. 

Bucky takes the spoon back. Steve eats a few bites of his own dinner.

Steve takes the spoon from him, their hands brushing for the millionth time but feeling different this time for some reason. It feels like sparkles shoot up his fingers, to his wrist, to his arm, to his shoulder, and then down his chest to his heart. Bucky steals a bite of his own dinner. 

He steals Ava’s spoon back, charged with happiness. Steve takes the last bite of his food right after Ava takes her own final bite. 

But. Steve is boiling over with ease and enjoyment and giddiness and so rather than taking Ava’s spoon,  _ that would be a useless move now, Bucky set it down anyway, _ or stopping the game fully- Steve just takes Bucky’s fork captive and… he lifts the utensil to Bucky’s mouth. 

And for whatever reason - maybe the playful atmosphere - Bucky’s mouth falls open, his pretty lips parting easily. Letting him guide the food into his mouth. 

Letting him feed him. 

But…

Bucky is not a child. Bucky does not need help with eating. Bucky is just… letting him. 

And  _ fuck.  _

Steve freezes, his fingers tightening around the stem of the utensil like a lifeline as he watches Bucky’s cheeks flush pink and his pupils spill outward slightly. He blushes all the way down his throat and to the tips of his ears. Hunger that was recently sated inside Steve climbs back up to the forefront of his mind. 

He gently draws away. Setting his fork down on the counter with a clatter. 

Neither of them move. 

Steve’s palms begin to sweat, feeling the way his own blood pressure rises with the thickening tension between them. He can’t stop his eyes from dipping down to watch the other man’s throat move as he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing. He sucks in a breath, eyes flicking right back up to his pretty face as Bucky licks his lips and then sinks his teeth into his lower lip, calling Steve’s attention to the plush cushion as if he wasn’t already staring, burning holes into him. 

The tension snaps, suddenly, breaking like a rubber band. 

Ava hiccups as she reaches out for her sippy cup, accidentally knocking it over and somehow knocking the screw-on lid off too. Sending a small tsunami of water over the island counter and their empty plates. 

Bucky coughs - covering an under the breath swear word - as he rushes into action, lunging off of his stool to grab the roll of paper towels sitting next to the fridge. Steve impulsively rushes to tip the sippy cup back upright even though there’s nothing left in it. He claps the lid back onto it. 

The commotion makes Ava’s fat lower lip wobble and her eyes well with tears. Steve sees it the moment he looks up from his seconds too late sippy cup rescue,  _ “nonono” _ he mumbles, instantly standing and starting to undo the clips that hold her into the chair. Cooing at her as he lifts her up and away from the slight mess, putting her against his chest, her head over his shoulder,  _ “shh, it’s okay.”  _ He pats her back, not enough to actually try and burp her, just enough to keep her hiccups from turning into chokes. _ “You’re okay, you didn’t mean to, I know,” _ he keeps up the nonsensical coos, swaying in place as Bucky stacks their plates, setting them out of the way and in the sink. He rips a pile of paper towels off of the roll, bunching them up and soaking up some of the water. 

Ava’s cries turn to whimpers, her hiccups are gone already and Bucky’s got the water under control with an additional two piles of paper towels. The storm of a moment has passed. Steve keeps swaying but stops cooing at her as she calms down more on her own, he meets Bucky’s steel grey eyes. 

He can’t help the grin that splits over his face, “aren’t you glad I have better fine motor control?”

Grinning right back Bucky plants his hands on the counter, shoulders shaking as he laughs and hangs his head, “yeah. I am.” 

Steve’s not sure if it counts as sitting still for more than one second successfully like Bucky wanted to see if he could if he’s not actually watching the TV. He’s not watching the TV but he is sitting still, so he’s halfway there, he just can’t stop watching Bucky. 

Looking at the younger man is a lot more entertaining than watching whatever is playing on the screen- and that’s not a dig at Bucky’s choice of show, not at all, he’s just… more interested in Bucky. 

Who wouldn’t be? 

Bucky who is also pretty restless on the other side of the couch despite how tired he probably is. He doesn’t look tired though, he just probably is under the surface because it’s just nearing eight thirty according to the clock above his TV and he’s admitted that most nights he crashes at about nine p.m. after putting Ava down to sleep at around six o-clock. He looks great really, not tired. He keeps shifting  _ (maybe to purposefully keep himself awake?) _ , tucking his legs under him, untucking them, folding them, then propping them up on the coffee table. Calling attention to his mostly bare legs. 

He’s just in black gym shorts and a deep red hoodie and he has been the whole time he’s been over, casual and comfortable, but it’s only now that Steve gets to admire him. Now that Ava’s gone to bed that he gets to  _ notice  _ him. 

His skin is a pretty pale golden that makes Steve think he’s maybe not as pure white - like fully English and Irish - like he is. Steve should ask him about that, if he knows anything about his heritage. The brunette doesn’t not have any body hair but the hair that he does have is lighter than the what’s on his head, thin and reminiscent of peach fuzz; sort of easy to miss. It makes him seem younger than twenty six. His feet are now bare because of Ava’s sippy cup incident, Steve does not have a thing for feet but Bucky has nice feet. Well, more of nice ankles. He has good architecture all over, like his facial bone structure, his ankles are pretty and delicate.  _ Huh.  _ And of course his muscles are there, strong and pretty clear under his skin, but  _ lean.  _ He’s built like a runner or a greyhound, not like, as more polite people tend to put it with his own stature, a  _ brick shit house.  _ His hoodie fits him a little loose, falling wide and open around his neck and collarbones, hiding his biceps and chest and most of his hands from view but Steve is sure that his skin is just as pretty there, under the fabric.

Unlike Steve’s eyes, his eyes stay trained on the TV the entire time soaking in the show and allowing for Steve to memorize his profile; whether it’s intentional or not. His nose is straight, not impossibly so but still perfect. There’s this tiny little dip in the bridge above the tip of his nose that Steve’s fingers want to trace until he could recreate it perfectly on a page without looking up at his muse to check. His jaw is sharp and strong and worthy of a million sonnets; it's so pretty. There’s a barely there hint of stumble across his jaw too, a soft, nearly invisible shadow that echoes his youth like his other body hair does. His cheekbones are just as sharp- just as carved as his jaw. And his hair. His hair looks so soft, shiny and silky in the illuminating, should-be-unflattering flickering light of the TV that it’s unfair. It’s long enough to start flipping up a little on the end near the nape of his neck. It’s curling around his ears and falling out of it’s easy, brushed back swoop around the top of his face. It should look messy. It doesn’t.

Bucky rocks himself to standing suddenly, pausing to stretch, throwing his arms up above his head and arching his back, making a sweet noise in the back of his throat. His hoodie is good enough at swallowing his lean frame that he’s saved from losing his mind over an accidental slice of belly and hips and back. Still though, Steve is helpless to at least pretend to have been watching the show and Bucky catches him staring without trying. He flicks a thumb back down the hall, telling him, “gonna go get a blanket. I’ll be right back.” 

Steve can only nod, entranced into watching him walk into the darkness of the hall until he’s swallowed by the friendly but looming shadows. It still takes him a few tries and a couple seconds to tear his eyes away from the vignette. 

When he returns he, true to his word, has a blanket. 

It’s one of the big, plush, softer than should be fair blankets. Navy blue and an ocean of comfort.  _ Of course,  _ Steve thinks, a ghost of a smirk dancing over his lips. Bucky seems like the kind of person who’d stow away plenty of soft, plush blankets and clothes so he can have a safe space or a home that’s the kind of space you’d never want to leave after entering. Seeing him with it - bundled in his arms and dripping down towards the floor with edges he couldn’t wrangle - makes him look more tired than he was before. 

He plops down a lot closer than he sat before, sitting in the middle of the couch rather than off to one side and Steve intends to tease him for it even though he’s entirely pleased with his closer proximity, but when he opens his mouth the words that actually fall out are, “you gonna share that or what?”

Bucky is busy straightening the blanket out over his lap and tucking it up and over one shoulder, nestling down, to hear him right away. He looks up and over at him, “hmm?” his brain catches up after a second, “oh, I wasn’t planning on it?” 

Steve feigns a hurt look, lifting his hand to his chest to signify his fictional heart’s breaking. 

Bucky rolls his pretty eyes at him, “okay fine, mister-I-run-ridiculously-hot, I’ll share,” he sighs, scooting closer and dragging the blanket with him until their sides are pressed together from shoulder to hip to knee. He lifts up the side of the blanket that’s getting squished between them and lays it over his lap, patting his thigh as if to tell him  _ “there there”  _ once he’s done. 

Steve lifts his arm up and settles it over Bucky’s shoulders because it really was getting uncomfortably squished between them but also so he can lean in and joke, “I’ll try not to sweat on you.” 

Bucky - who has already turned back to the TV because he’s invested in the show instead of ignoring the show - laughs and leans into his side even more with his arm out of the way. “Such a gentleman,” he proclaims, turning to him a little more and giving Steve the perfect opportunity to peck his cheek.

“That’s me,” he teases against his rapidly heating cheek. 

Bucky just huffs an amused breath out at his response, tearing his eyes away for a couple of moments to look at him, eyes going soft. Steve melts into the couch but it’s got nothing to do with being too hot with the extra layer. 

The younger man wordlessly scooches down a little, facing back forwards, almost seeming to absentmindedly settle back into the cushions at the same time that he slouches- getting himself at a better angle for cuddling. But Steve doesn’t realize that until Bucky’s head lands on his shoulder and his legs come up from the ninety degree angle they were sitting at to fold and hug chest, getting more of his weight pressed into his body. 

It feels nice, having the younger man so close. He can’t help but sigh and squeeze Bucky’s shoulders harder for a second. 

Bucky makes his own sighing noise, his hair tickling the side of his neck as he mumbles something that sounds like,  _ “missed this.”  _

“What?” Steve breathes, half afraid he’s dreaming and scared to break it if he is. Shadows seem darker with Bucky next to him and it might just be the forward march of time but they take on a cozy, cradling tone with Bucky close so it’s not just that. Without him it might feel entrapping or charged with a threat but… not with him. 

“Snuggling with somebody,” Steve glances down at him at the sound of his voice, calm and low, lulling the shadows to sleep. Bucky is already there, looking up at him and shrugging, “Ava is the best thing that’s ever fuckin’ happened to me but…” 

“She’s a lot of work,” Steve finishes for him. 

“Yeah.” Bucky agrees verbally but Steve more feels the word than he hears it because Bucky’s nose is tucked into his neck and his breath is fanning over his skin softly. It takes his breath away, the closeness. 

He barely can echo him,  _ “yeah…” _ Bucky’s lips meet the junction between his shoulder and neck, “I get that,” he whispers, staring forward at the TV but not registering what he’s looking at. He’s thinking instead. 

Bucky makes a curious, nearly purring noise against him and so he keeps talking even though to him it’s obvious. He keeps rubbing Bucky’s shoulder too even though he doesn’t know when he started doing that. Besides, why stop when the dim darkness is making him feel a little cocooned and a little confessional, “work is the best, I love helping people, kids, and their parents but-  _ god, _ doctor hours are not forgiving. They’re actually exhausting and I always heard people bitching about them and how hard it is to do anything but work. I guess… I don’t know, I guess I believed them enough that I never really tried to work anyone else into my schedule. Not since high school.” 

Bucky hums, kissing him again in understanding. Hushing words into his skin, “yeah. Yeah, it’s like if I do have time between Ava and work and I feel like seeing someone then it’s usually just a one time thing. Anyone my age doesn’t want kids and because I have a kid they don’t want me.” 

Steve’s heart kicks against his ribs. He shapes words out into the otherwise empty air of the apartment, imagining as they leave his mouth that they disperse like hot breath on a frozen day, “I want you.” 

“I know,” Bucky’s lips trace more solidly against his throat suddenly, less like wisps of spider silk disappearing in the wind and more like a prayer flag flying in a summer's breeze. Steve shivers and his fingers wander down the path of Bucky’s shoulder to his hip. Once they land on the curve of his hip Steve tugs at Bucky and Bucky knows just what he’s trying to say, just what he wants. 

Bucky shifts, sliding from clinging to his side to sitting in his lap, pulled by some kind of gravity almost. 

They sit, face to face, for just a second before that gravity acts on them again, pulsing and shivering between them, tightening until they are helpless to resist and must follow. Drawn to one another in the way that flowers bloom towards the sun and will follow it across the sky because it’s what they need to live. 

Colliding into each other, lips first, they meet in the middle. 

Steve already knew that Bucky’s lips were just as soft as they looked but he still drinks them in, enjoying the plush heat of his mouth and his body, their fronts slotted together even as he tugs him closer by the waist. He pulls back just for a second, not even bothering to open his eyes as he catches some of his breath and then not putting up a lick of a fight as he’s tugged back under the current. Bucky is right there with him, drowning in the best way. 

Eager for more, they both seem to realize in the same moment that their mouths are closed and a literal floodgate opens between them. 

Desire sparks in his belly and bubbles up his throat to live just behind his teeth where Bucky finds it when he dares to lick into his mouth. The feeling is passed off to Bucky if the pretty sigh he makes is anything to go by. Steve’s body instantly replaces the missing chunk of desire- like in those fairy tales where the big, scary dragon the hero must slay grows another two heads every time they cut off one. It has him filling him up with want and need and fire. Heating his blood to a boil. 

He chases Bucky’s tongue, licking into his mouth and  _ feeling  _ the exact moment that it clicks inside of Bucky- when he realizes likes giving up his control more than he likes taking it. He moans. They both moan. Someone moans. Everything falls into place. All of it happens and none of it happens because it feels like a dream, it feels so good, too good for real life. His cock is twitching, coming alive and hardening with his pooling lust. He knows Bucky is in the same predicament, he’s pressed right up against him. 

Steve grabs at Bucky harder when he can’t keep kissing him, dizzy, pulling him closer so he can pant into his mouth and his lungs burn, searching for more oxygen. 

_ “Oh, fuck-” _ Bucky pants wetly, his voice shot with want and instantly leaning back in for more like he’s already addicted. Steve feels the same even though he can’t make himself say it out loud because he can’t get his lips to do anything but kiss the fuck out of him. He’s hooked on the drug in Bucky’s kiss, he wants more. He wants all of it. 

Instinctively Steve’s hips move up towards that delicious sound, reacting without his permission. Bucky swears again, breathy and hot as his own hips do the same, dragging down into his erection. Still Steve has to stutter,  _ “this- this okay?” _

Bucky is so eager with his consent that he tries to nod as they get back to kissing, messy and hot with passion flaring between them viciously now that it finally has an outlet, making their beings melt into one big mess. Steve doesn’t care that him nodding like that gets saliva around his mouth like someone’s trying to put lipstick on him in the dark because he’s too busy thinking about how good it feels to have Bucky, hot and wanting, squirming in his lap. Making little sounds under his breath as he moves. He’s not even really thinking about that though. Really he’s just feeling, just experiencing. Absorbing what he can of the pleasure and drowning in the rest. 

He bites down on Bucky’s lower lip because how could he not, he’s watched him do it himself about a million times since he met him and he wants a try. He wants a taste. 

Bucky gasps out a moan of, _ “yes-!” _ right into his mouth and Steve’s vision sparkles under his shut eyelids as he breaks out into goosebumps. His desire gets to him so suddenly, choking him, that he nearly bucks Bucky off of his lap. Its claws sink in bone deep while the younger man’s lips fall wider open with the encouragement from his teeth. His hips move into his too, just as reckless and needy, and Steve can no longer keep his hands on his waist, he has to get them on his ass. 

Bucky gasps, just as enthusiastic with that as with the biting and so for course he has to do it again. Both again. Bucky whimpers into his mouth, his lips pausing with his overload of pleasure and arousal. 

Steve would smirk if his mouth weren’t busy exchanging sloppy kisses that might as well sizzle, they’re so hot. If he weren’t busy trying to center himself from the storm of pleasure assaulting him. Overwhelming him. His dick is completely hard now, throbbing and full, and Steve powerlessly moans back into Bucky’s mouth, digging his fingertips into his ass just to feel his dick twitch through his shorts. 

He doesn’t know- doesn’t understand how he went without this now that they’ve started it. 

But suddenly there are hands carding through his hair, catching on a couple of tangles and bringing his head back just a little, and Steve groans. Grinding up into Bucky until his hands shake so much that they fall from his hair to his shoulders, needing something steady to hold onto. He moans openly. 

Bucky’s kisses were hungry before but that hunger doesn’t hold a candle to the craving, ravenous hunger now burning through him. Through  _ them.  _ Steve feels like a starved predator within inches of a fresh kill, salivating, suffering from hunger pains.

Steve has no idea when he last was so turned on, so geared up, so needing of release. 

Maybe he’s never been like this. 

Maybe he’s never felt so desperate- never  _ been  _ so desperate. 

He gasps in a lungful of air after suffocating in sacrifice to continue locking lips with Bucky, his tingling, wet lips cooling off with his heaving breaths. Bucky does the same, shaking with unresolved need in his lap. Steve pushes a hand up under his sweatshirt to find that he hasn’t even got a shirt on under it. He groans like he’s in pain as he caresses his bare skin and, well, he’s starting to get hard enough to hurt so it might as well be true. 

Right as he leans in for another hungry kiss he remembers that there’s other things that they could be doing besides dry humping each other like desperate teenagers, “you got any condoms?” he pants hot and heavy, into Bucky’s mouth. 

Bucky moans, hips jerking forward in an almost trained response as his head drops back, his spine arching under the weight of his head. Making him break away from their kiss as if he can’t take it, it’s too hot, taking a second to just breath, panting like he’s in heat. Steve is only a man, he can’t resist the invitation of his bare, exposed, and arched throat. He kisses his neck, nibbling unkindly with his teeth and feeling how he makes his words turn into another high, sharp moan under his mouth, “yea-  **_ah!_ ** _ ”  _

_ “Fuck. Where-?” _

**_“Wahhh! Wahh!”_ **

At the exact same moment that Steve speaks, asking where Bucky keeps his condoms, the baby monitor erupts with Ava’s shrill crying from where it’s resting on the coffee table. 

_ Fuck.  _

Bucky freezes where he is: head tipped back to present his throat, his back arched, hands digging fingerprint bruises into his shoulders, a slowly reddening mark appearing on his neck in the shape of Steve’s mouth, his thighs digging into his waist, chest heaving. And for a second there’s only their rapid, wet breathing to interrupt the silence of night, no additional crying. But even so Bucky curls forward, resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder as they both keep breathing. Waiting for another second to see what happens. 

Anticipation curls heavily and tightly in Steve’s chest,  _ please go back to sleep, please go back to sleep, please- _

**_“Waaa! Wah!”_ **

She keeps crying. 

Apparently unable to self-soothe and fall back asleep on her own. 

Bucky picks his head up after pressing it a little harder into his shoulder in either a silent apology or in frustration, Steve isn’t entirely sure which, but it’s one of the two. He gets up from his lap when the crying doesn’t pause or stop this time. The brunette’s legs are wobbly and he’s still pitching quite a tent in his shorts but he goes without verbal complaint. Speed walking all the front of the hall that leads down toward his and Ava’s bedrooms before he turns around to say something, a yawning behind one of his hands right before he raises his voice enough to be heard over the baby monitor’s tinny crying, “do you wanna stay over?”

Steve relaxes into the couch just from the invitation itself, “to sleep?” he interjects cheekily, “‘cause it looks like you’re about to fall asleep on your feet and I’d hate to get in the way of your beauty sleep.” 

Bucky doesn’t comment on the  _ beauty sleep  _ part of his comment, he just makes a general dismissive hand gesture before nodding, “this time.” Bucky shifts on his feet, needing to get to Ava but also needing to get his words out. “To sleep.” 

Steve grins freely and makes an exaggerated shooing gesture back at him, dismissing him to go and get Ava with an enthused,  _ “yeah, _ of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. if you think this is where the teasing starts... you've got another thing coming ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!!  
> And an extra huge thank you in advance if you leave kudos or comments too! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr [here.](https://fandomfluffandfuck.tumblr.com/)


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